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Posts Tagged ‘skip schiel’

Israelis, Palestinians, and Jordanians are currently planning accelerated development around the Dead Sea, which would result in massive construction of new hotels, expansion of industry and enhanced mineral and water extraction. The various new endeavors currently proposed for the region demonstrate not only woefully insufficient consideration of even basic ecological principles, but also a lack of basic coordination between sectors and between the three relevant governmental authorities.
See also Red Dead Conduit.

—EcoPeace-Middle East

Excerpts from my journal as I explore the situation in Palestine and Israel

PHOTOS

Yesterday’s first task was thinking about how far south I’d travel and where I might stay the night. Then a visit to the Ein Gedi Nature Reserve.

I’d stopped by on an earlier Dead Sea journey but for reasons I don’t recall did not enter. This time I had time for a leisurely stroll up Wadi David to the first set of waterfalls. I was not alone: numerous tour groups also visited.

Thru Wadi David

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Most walked only the minimum distance, to the first fall. Some stopped to pray and sing, I assume they were Christian altho I don’t know the Christian significance of this area. I overheard the words David and his men, meaning King David, alleged to have hidden here. On the trail I remet the young couple from the Netherlands who I’d shared quarters with at the hostel and then drove them to the nature reserve. They intended to take a longer route to caves and other sites. I had neither the time, nor interest, nor knees for that journey.

Since water is one of my main themes I felt at home on this walk. Multiple falls (I showered in the first one, before and after photographing a woman and her infant playing in the water), exquisite rock or clay formations (what keeps the structures in place, how dangerous is walking here, what if an earthquake happened? I did see a sign with the words Escape Route), striations showing millennial changes (2 million years ago this area was covered with water that connected to the Mediterranean), well made and tended trails with handrails and steps, birds and one gruesome looking rodent with sharp teeth that I photographed, views to the Dead Sea and back toward the Negev Desert heights, and a comfortable climate—not too hot, nor too cold, no hint of rain, some clouds.

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To escape from falling rocks (and pehaps flash floods)

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Rock Hyrax/Rock Badger

Then, to the car and off I spin south. With a long stop at the Ein Bokek hotel complex which I visited a few years ago. Here a room would cost me upwards of $300! On my last visit I could walk easily into a hotel (and surreptitiously photograph) with the story that I was considering an overnight stay. Not so this time—it is Israel’s Independence Day holiday. The hotels are loaded, not quite full. I found a friendly security man who let me park and escorted me to reception where I spoke with a dark-skinned young woman. After inquiring about prices I asked, might I look around? Help yourself. This after a rebuff at the first hotel I tried, the Leonardo.

I photographed and tried to imagine staying here, even if on a corporate budget. Would I? Why? So dismal, so dry, so too perfect. Not for me. Money or not.

One of numerous high end hotels in Ein Bokek

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Near the Ein Bokek hotel complex in the southern sea, the sea level continues to fall. Thus, a new road LOWER than the old.

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Paradoxically, while water from the northern section is pumped into the southern to be evaporated for mineral extraction, the sea level is rising in some places because of the build up of salt deposits that remain after mineral extraction. Thus, a new road, higher than the old.

Where will I sleep tonight? How about the beach, in my car? I scouted various locations, spoke with numerous people, and learned essentially I could car camp most anywhere in Israel and not be bothered. Where would I find minimal facilities like an unlocked toilet in the morning for a commanding call? That is not so easy. I spotted a couple, she with head covered, apparently car camping. I could pull up beside them, spoil their privacy, and have little of my own.

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“According to the Israeli group Who Profits From the Occupation? (whoprofits.org), the mud used in Ahava products is taken from a site on the shores of the Dead Sea inside the occupied territory, next to Kalia. Ahava uses Palestinian natural resources without the permission of or compensation to the Palestinians. Meanwhile, Israel denies Palestinians access to the shores of the Dead Sea and its resources, although one-third of the western shore of the Dead Sea lies in the occupied West Bank.” 

I surveyed a small shopping mall. Remembering the boycott of Ahava cosmetics because it uses materials from the Palestinian section of the Dead Sea I photographed the Ahava retail store, trying to combine the shop, sign, and beach. I bought a beer (18 NIS/$4.50) and drank half the can in my car, then napped, awakening to heat. The shadow had shifted. I bought a small tin of instant coffee, 20 NIS/$5. And made a cup of cold coffee to rouse myself after the beer for the drive further south. I photographed the old road which is higher than the new road, indicating sea recession, and then later, further south, I photographed the new road, higher than the old, because the southern basin is rising.

This is complicated: the Sea’s northern portion is clearly receding because of diversion and drought (altho I learned huge changes in sea level are common over a long stretch of time, level much higher in the century before the era of Jesus), and apparently for a while the Sea’s south portion receded as well. Then, with the buildup of mineral deposits from mining the water for potassium, sodium, etc, the level is rising in the south. Rather than curtail the mineral deposition the government has decided to revise the infrastructure. So we have here 2 major problems caused by changes in water—sinkholes and infrastructure, which includes the hotels.

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I photographed as many manifestations of these phenomena as I could. I might have enough photos for a Dead Sea presentation alone. Include the Dead Sea works, pipes, cliffs, etc, and it may be a substantial collection. Add to that also the region I now write from, Neot haKikar, and I might have a unique collection. (I should research other photo sets from the Dead Sea. I long for aerial views, maybe next time bring a drone.)

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Pumps move water from the northern section to the south

Canals carry water to the southern section

Canals carry water to the southern section

Evaporation ponds

Evaporation ponds

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Dead Sea Works, for extracting potash, and other minerals

Last evening as I drove into the small moshav (agricultural coop), Neot HaKikar, for groceries, I noticed about 10 dark-skinned Asian men riding on a flat bed trailer pulled by a tractor. First thought: tourists. Second: they might stay where I’m staying, ghastly. Third thought as I discovered they shopped at the same “minimarket” as me and bought large quantities of beer, wine and vodka, along with some staples, Oh oh, what if they reside tonight at the camp lodge where I am? Could be rowdy and noisy. Fourth thought, as I heard their language, a singsong Cambodian-like language: Ah ha, they are foreign agricultural workers, probably from Thailand.

Workers from Thailand

Agricultural workers from Thailand in the cooperative farming village of Neot HaKikar at the southern Dead Sea tip

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Shkedi’s Camp Lodge in Neot HaKikar

I thought I might inquire of the man at checkout but this would be in the presence of the workers. Save the question for later, perhaps Gil, the lodge’s proprietor, who I’ve yet to see this morning (later he affirmed my speculation). Checking on line, I find references to Thai workers in this region. Local agriculture grows melons, tomatoes, squash, etc, that can survive on salty water.

I consider whether foreign workers throughout Israel could become a subtheme of my photography. I waited while they boarded a flatbed and then tried to follow them without being spotted. I made a few snaps, planning to scout further today. But because it might still be holiday—and the beginning of Shabbat—they may not work. Perhaps this is their reason for stocking up on booze.

Referring to my speculations about dangers from falling rocks at Ein Gedi Nature Reserve:

The Neot HaKikar disaster (Hebrew: אסון נאות הכיכר), which occurred on 30 December 1970, was until the Mount Carmel forest fire of 2010 the worst natural disaster in the history of the State of Israel. Heavy rains caused rocks to detach from an overhanging cliff and crush a dining room in an Israel Defense Forces base. 19 soldiers and one civilian were killed and ten soldiers were injured (three of them severely). (Wikipedia)

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Looking south toward the Red Sea, Dead Sea approximately in the middle, Sea of Galilee near the bottom, the Mediterranean Sea on the right

LINKS

Salt Production at the Dead Sea

“Israel Chemicals Moves Dead Sea Salt for $1 Billion,” by David Wainer, 2013

“The Dying of the Dead Sea,” by Joshua Hammer, 2005

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Your sensitivity to light and emotion is dramatic, the brilliant daylight framing the sad courageous eyes and brave determined expressions of our Gaza neighbors, as they face such a cruel, demented, and terrifying adversary.

I think you are very brave too, and I thank you deeply for shining a true light on these barbaric crimes committed with America’s complete support.

—John Paulman

PHOTOS

From early March thru end of May 2015 I photographed, videoed, and wrote in Palestine-Israel, north to south, east to west, Israel and Palestine, wet and dry, happy and tragic, brightly lit (oh that Mediterranean Light!) and dark. With what I hope is an open heart, available to all parties, a fair-eyed and handed treatment of different experiences, I labored. I can now offer five new photographic presentations. Do you know of venues where I might show these? (I am planning a five week tour to California and Alaska in the spring of 2016.)

With the support of many in my local and national Quaker community, since 2003 I have travelled to Israel and Palestine to investigate and portray conditions and struggles. I have worked with a variety of organizations, both Israeli and Palestinian and joint organizations, volunteering to make photographs for them that I also can circulate as slide shows and print exhibitions. My hope is to open eyes and doors and windows, encouraging awareness and action.

 



Thru my Lens: Palestine-Israel
The look, feel and meaning of the situation in this troubled region.
Based on my recent journey of faith in action, I show and discuss my photographs about coexistence, Palestinians in Jerusalem, the Freedom Bus Ride thru the West Bank, Gaza’s Israeli neighbors, the hydropolitics of the Jordan River and Dead Sea, and other topics.

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Conversations across barriers—Some 70 Palestinians, Israelis, and a few internationals met for two days in a Global Village Square. A project of the Center for Emerging Futures, this was held at the Everest Hotel in Bethlehem under the shadow of the separation barrier.


The Freedom Bus Ride thru the Palestinian West Bank

A slideshow about Palestinians under occupation practicing exemplary strategic nonviolent resistance.
The renowned Freedom Theater of Jenin West Bank organized a two week bus journey inspired by the Freedom Movement and Freedom Bus Rides in the United States, some 60 international and Palestinian riders, to explore some of the most attacked and resilient communities in the West Bank—Bil’in, Tuwani, Nabi Salih, the Jordan Valley, and Jerusalem itself, known for their creative struggles against oppression.

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Bil’in is one of several sites in the West Bank of relatively successful popular resistance against the Israeli occupation of Palestine.

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Popular Resistance in the village of Nabi Salih—Seeking justice and freedom and organized by the Freedom Theater of Jenin, the Freedom Bus travels to sites of suffering and resistance in the West Bank, Occupied Palestine.


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erusalem Day: the Controversial March of Flags
A slideshow about the annual celebration of Jerusalem’s “reunification.”
In reality, Jerusalem is not unified, but in the eyes of many of its Palestinian residents it is occupied. Violence in this holy city has recently escalated. All governments refuse to locate their embassies there, but instead base in Tel Aviv. The march provocatively begins in Sheik Jarrah, a contested Palestinian neighborhood, marches thru the eastern, largely Palestinian, sector of Jerusalem, thru the Damascus Gate, and into the Muslim Quarter to the Western Wall. I photographed and videoed this year’s March, trying to carefully depict both sides of the controversy. I accompany the short movie with a slideshow about Jerusalem from a Palestinian perspective.

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At the wall along the old Jericho road, now blocked, Fayrouz shows us a tear gas cannister used to disperse demonstators-7794.jpg

At the wall along the old Jericho road, now blocked, Fayrouz Sharqawi from Grassroots Jerusalem shows us a tear gas canister used to disperse demonstators


Gaza’s Israeli Neighbors
A movie about courageous Israelis advocating for talks, not tanks, diplomacy, not war.
Living within one mile of Gaza, these Israelis suffer the brunt of rocket and mortar attacks from Gaza, most recently infiltration as well. Yet some have formed an organization called Other Voice that calls for an intelligent and humane response to the violence and injustice in their neighborhood, in league with similarly minded Gazans.

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Military tower, Gaza in the background

Nomika Zion, author of "War Diary from Sderot," written during Operation Cast Lead in 2008-09, the predecessor to the last war-1.jpg

Nomika Zion, author of “War Diary from Sderot,” written during Operation Cast Lead in 2008-09, the predecessor to the last war


Holy Water—The Jordan River, Sea of Galilee, & Dead Sea
A photographic exhibition.
Ample in the upper Jordan, threatened in the Galilean Sea, shrunk to mostly wastewater in the Lower Jordan, and the Dead Sea rapidly dying, this photographic series intersects regional history, geology, hydropolitics, and the global climate crisis. Water rights powerfully demand justice, security, peace, and reconciliation.

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Mt Hermon—Israeli military surveillance installation

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Water rescue training in the Upper Jordan

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Sea of Galilee

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Baptism in the Lower Jordan at Qasr el Yahud, the Israeli site

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Dead Sea, stranded pier because of rapidly decreasing sea level—this section of the Sea is in the West Bank and most Palestinians are not allowed on this beach.

FROM EARLIER TRIPS:

Eyewitness Gaza (movie)
About current conditions and struggles in Gaza based on my photography, directed by Tom Jackson of Joe Public Films. The context is the Arab Spring.

Eyewitness Gaza (book)
Photography of the current conditions & struggles in the Gaza Strip, Occupied Palestine, from 2004 thru 2012

Timeline: Palestine & Israel
An inclusive history in slideshow form from the First Zionist Conference in 1897 to the present.

“You don’t change the course of history by turning the faces of portraits to the wall” (Jawaharlal Nehru)
Portraits of a wide variety of people through out Palestine-Israel.

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Report of Faith In Action in Palestine-Israel – 2015

 

Though unquestionably didactic, Skip Schiel’ s images are also haunting glimpses of the perilous nature of life in Gaza. The photographs never feel invasive or forced; they simply capture moments of intimate truth between photographer and subject.

—Sarah Correia (Fuse Visual Arts Review: “Gaza in Photographs: Up Close and Personal”—artsfuse.org/?p=26044)

Skip Schiel has been documenting the Palestinian and Israeli reality through photographs and journal postings since 2003—work with a better feel for the detailed texture of life in Gaza and the West Bank than any appearing in US media. Schiel spends time where most journalists dare not tread, amidst ordinary Palestinians, sharing in the dangers and frustrations of their lives.

His work has been invaluable for my own. As a writer for a Buddhist publication whose parents were victims of the Holocaust, I try to convey a view of the conflict that differs from the US media’s, which obfuscates the injustices and sufferings inflicted on the Palestinians by Israel. Through his portraits of Palestinian men, women, and children striving to maintain ordinary routines despite harassment and attacks by Israel’s military, Skip reveals to us the true face of Palestinians.

—Annette Herskovits, former consulting editor, Turning Wheel, the Journal of the Buddhist Peace Fellowship

You capture such powerful, symbolic moments in your work, that reach beyond the context they are in. I admire your brave tenacity and commitment to documentation of this struggle for justice.

—Marjorie Wright, filmmaker and activist

Skip Schiel photographs not only with his eyes but with his heart.

—Fares Oda, former staff American Friends Service Committee, Ramallah, West Bank, Occupied Palestinian Territories

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Excerpts from my journal as I explore the situation in Palestine and Israel

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 Bassam Tamimi with his daughters

Photos

The Freedom Bus project was not started as a way of doing touristic and artistic tours of the West Bank. And this is not why we joined either. It is helping us to understand more fully this occupation and to speak to Palestinians first hand. Our role as witnesses is to go home and share the reality on the ground, which is way too often distorted in mainstream media. We are not innocent and have to transform knowledge into action – action that has been called for by the locals themselves. They are asking for political support, which can be demanded and fought for back in our own countries. They are also asking for the support of the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) movement, which should be implemented on a personal level as well as in our schools, supermarkets, offices and nationally. As internationals we have a role and we can work in solidarity with the Palestinians to make a difference.

—Sama, one of the bus riders

March 20, 2015, Friday, Cinema Jenin Guest House, Jenin, Palestine

Cool, low 50s, 80% cloudy with altocumulus, slight breeze.

Yesterday [March 19, 2015] was another full day: breakfast at 8; at 9 various warm ups for team building on the outdoor stage of Cinema Jenin (touch-don’t touch partner’s knees; call out names during a rhythm game; stretch together; shake out; breathe, stop-go, down-up, referring to the occupation, and then the reverse as resistance; and share a feeling with the group; all good techniques to use during my later photography teaching); a lecture demonstration by Eyad Burnat from Bil’in about what to expect at today’s Nabi Salih demo (gas, bullets, arrests, etc); lunch at the Freedom Theater with an intro to the theater and freedom ride by Joanna; tour of the refugee camp including the cemetery with its martyrs’ markers, then to the horse statue (made of pieces of shattered ambulances, pointing north toward liberation); a brief talk by a bureaucrat about maintaining the camp; a stunning musical performance by beginning and advanced students at the Al Kamanjati music school; a playback performance there (I offered my Gaza kidnapping story); dinner at the cinema garden (sitting with lubna, the translator, and the shy quiet woman from Acca), and finally, after staff twice grabbed the wrong DVD’s, a screening of Arna’s Children about the founding of the Freedom Theater.

I’d seen the movie before so it looked familiar, but I recalled very little of it. I was puzzled by the time sequence and asked Jonathan, the managing director of the Freedom Theater, who suddenly appeared for the discussion, about this. Most takes place during the battle for Jenin in 2002. Arna died in the late 1990s of cancer, and the Freedom Theater opened in 2006. I set myself in the movie’s time frame and realized I may have visited the camp with the delegation one year after the fighting, and the theater opened during my early period in Israel-Palestine. In fact I may have first visited shortly after it opened.

Trying to sort out what I will bring on the Freedom Ride, realizing I may lack some vital things (like a sleeping pad, suggested by Bryan), with all we human beings jockeying for space, with virtually no sort-out space like my bed available, is—as was true during my various pilgrimages—daunting. But rather than this lasting for 1 year as with the Middle Passage Pilgrimage (retracing the transatlantic trade journey), this is only 12 days. Thus it is tolerable.

Maybe differing from the pilgrimages, especially the Middle Passage Pilgrimage, is the feeling of camaraderie, mutual support, shared mission, and above all else, exceptionally fine organizing. Unlike that pilgrimage this is not a first time effort. This tour is the 4th annual.

March 21, 2015, Saturday, Guest House/school, Bil’in, Palestine

Cool, mid 40s, clear, slight breeze.

We are in Bil’in (pronounced with the accent on the 2nd syllable, and adding a sort of grunt at the ‘ —Bil-hi-een.). I believe we are in a school or community room, men in the main room, women in 3 separate rooms, all on the floor, luckily with plenty of mattresses and cushions, relatively quiet after about midnight (Fidaa asked for quiet around 11, reminding me of when I tried this on the Middle Passage Pilgrimage and was angrily opposed), me again next to Bryan (as I’d been in the Jenin guest house, after I seemed to have swiped, in his view, his corner space and his cushions, a very curious relationship), all leading to a fair night’s sleep (but short, 6 hours). I am back in pilgrimage mode.

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Nabi Salih and the colony of Halamish

Yesterday we were at the village of Nabi Salih most of the day, for the demo, village walk around, and dinner. We heard of course from Bassam Tamimi, probably the chief leader, who gave a nuanced discourse about resistance. He joked that “we don’t need more tears, we have the tear gas.” Apparently he is originally from this village settled by Tamimi’s and is now filled with them, but in 2009 when the settlers in Halamish took over the village spring (on the other side of a divide), he returned to lead the resistance. His children are in the forefront of the struggle and were clearly the main presence at the demo when they loudly confronted the soldiers, all 4 sisters, ranging in age from about 6 to 11.

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Halamish upper left, spring middle right, demonstration in the middle, Nabi Salih behind the photographer

As the sisters scurried up the hill, warned by the soldiers to leave within minutes or they’d be tear gassed, breathlessly one told me she could speak Hebrew and told the soldiers this was not their land, no one invited them here, the Palestinians were the rightful owners, and the soldiers and settlers should leave. To me she spoke in good English. Later she and 2 of her sisters spoke to our group, encouraged by their father and mother, electrifying us with their courage and articulation of the struggle.

Their mother, Nariman, was injured fairly recently, shot in the leg at close range with a tear gas canister. She used leg braces but attended the demo.

Unlike last week when the Israelis arrested 2 women and injured a boy, yesterday [March 20, 2015] they merely shot opening salvos of tear gas, and then allowed resisters to approach to about 5 meters, the kids closest, face-to-face with the army. I remained back, not at the very back where many stood on cliffs, but about 300 meters from the front line. Partly because I have trouble navigating the rocky hills, and mainly because I appreciated the new vantage point afforded by the elevation. Maybe a little confusion and fear as well.

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Tamimi girls confront the soldiers

There I perched for about 30 minutes using primarily my telephoto lens, chatting with Lorenza, a young woman from Switzerland. So she could see the action better thru my long lens, we shared my camera from time to time. I felt I was photographing a tableau—lines of people constantly changing their geometry. (I thought of Henri Cartier Bresson, known for “the decisive moment,” his use of evolving human geometry in photography.) The kids, the acrobatics from one of the Freedom Theater members, the casually positioned soldiers, and the spring off to one side now developed by settlers. I used my wide lens to show the positioning of settlement, confrontation, and spring. I’d read about this but now could picture it.

Would the solders attack? A key question. This time, no, perhaps influenced by the large number of internationals, or perhaps wisely realizing, as police in the United States seem to be doing more now, that waiting out the demo is simplest, cheapest, and least likely to lead to negative publicity.

Writing this entry in the early morning, I sit now in the main room of the Bil’in center, leaning against the wall, cushioned by a pillow, on my sleeping bag and blanket (kindly lent by Ayman from the Jenin guest house), while others slowing awaken and rise.

Last night traveling here from Nabi Salih, the driver became lost. Which seemed to lead to a raucous songfest that disturbed me. I was sitting alone in the front, about 5 seats back, the front seats occupied by Palestinians, when they began singing. One woman in particular, who I’d earlier noticed seemed depressed, sitting sullenly and separately with her phone in hand, maybe not loving the bus experience, suddenly became suffused with wild energy. She jumped about, screamed, clapped her hands madly about her head, and was eventually subdued by the Palestinian with dreads. I thought she might be manic-depressive.

Later one of the men explained they sang traditional songs, often sung at weddings, similar perhaps to folksongs in the USA. This episode reminded me of terrible moments on previous trips, pilgrimages, especially the Middle Passage one, where the new living mode I’m subjected to just does not appeal. Let me off this bus, please!

During the spring of 1961, student activists from the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) launched the Freedom Rides to challenge segregation on interstate buses and bus terminals. Traveling on buses from Washington, D.C., to Jackson, Mississippi, the riders met violent opposition in the Deep South, garnering extensive media attention and eventually forcing federal intervention from John F. Kennedy’s administration. Although the campaign succeeded in securing an Interstate Commerce Commission (ICC) ban on segregation in all facilities under their jurisdiction, the Freedom Rides fueled existing tensions between student activists and Martin Luther King, Jr., who publicly supported the riders, but did not participate in the campaign.

—Freedom Rides in the United States during the freedom movement

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On the wall of the Tamimi home

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKS

Freedom Bus blog

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Excerpts from my journal as I explore the situation in Palestine and Israel

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PHOTOS

March 8, 2015, Sunday, Golden Gate hostel, Old City, Jerusalem, Israel-Palestine

(Warm, low 60s, sunny, calm—other than the temperature this might be the usual report.)

Yesterday [March 7, 2015], one day before the official International Women’s Day, I arrived at the checkpoint, the site of the march and demonstration well, before the slated start time of 11 am. Thanks to Sahar V, a Jewish Israeli woman with the American Friends Service Committee in East Jerusalem, who told me about the demonstration and suggested I participate on the Palestinian-West Bank side, I met an extraordinary Israeli Jewish woman, Tamar. I’d noticed her talking with Palestinians—short blond hair, jeans, lightly built, she reminded me from a distance of Lynn. Believing she was present for the demo I walked near her to possibly strike up a conversation. She invited me to have coffee from a stand she sat at.

She told me she is a presence at the checkpoint every Sunday, on her own apparently, not part of Machsom Watch, the Israeli women who monitor and report on checkpoints, or other organizations. She makes photos of the boys who flock around her and then gives them prints the following week. This she says in lieu of giving them money which she feels they would give to their fathers. When she first started appearing, they’d beg, she’d refuse, they’d grow angry, and then she thought of the photography. She touched each one of them in greeting, very motherly, expressing deep love and solidarity.

Belatedly I thought, since I am now on the Ramallah side of the Green Line/Wall, why not visit Ramallah, then why not visit friends, why not visit Jean and Fareed? Trying to phone them, I discovered my phone’s minutes had disappeared. I was stranded. Tamar let me borrow her phone. I reached Fareed who agreed to meet me later.

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The women arrived, some 300 of them, males mixed in. I’m not sure of their starting point, possibly the Kalandia refugee camp. The media presence was large. Most wore helmets, bulletproof vests, and carried tear gas masks. Am I prepared for this? The women marched right up to the closed, heavily patrolled checkpoint and confronted the soldiers. Media rushed to the front of the line, cameras high above their heads. Suddenly someone fell down, a heavy-set woman; others clustered around her, including media. I tried to photograph from outside, not effectively. I smelled a slight tinge of tear gas. Had gas been used? Why so quickly? I did not see stones hurled at the army.

People regrouped, more confrontation, this time I came closer and might have made better photos. A stand-off—the soldiers and police; their commanders at least, older, seemed cool and poised. I wandered around looking for context photos—the wall, observation tower, graffiti—and human detail, faces, mainly faces. I concentrated on faces from the beginning, as the march approached, and believe these will be among my best photos.

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At one point everyone fled, laughing, to return, I with them. Not nearly as limber as I once was, unsure of my footing, I was more attentive to my safety than to photographing. Then gas again, much gas, this time with tear gas canisters exploding all around me, immersing me in stinging stinky gas, a smell I abhor. My eyes teared up so I couldn’t see well; I gasped for breath, wishing to breathe only thru my nostrils but unable to resist opening my mouth as wide as possible to inhale the most oxygen possible (and the most gas).

I stumbled in retreat, not even thinking about photos. The wind blew with us, from the soldiers, not the best direction. More gas ahead, swerve, avoid it. People helped each other. I empathized with the obese and aged. Finally out of range, I tried to show people struggling with the gas, aided by others. I made a series of photos without the viewfinder and then noticed that the camera was not operating. Either I’d run out of battery or memory or I now had a defective camera. Checking, I discovered that I’d jarred open the door to the battery and memory card. Closing it, I tested, found my camera did operate, and resumed photography. My camera almost a casualty.

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Oh yes, the stones. Someone, probably the shabab, the young boys, began throwing them shortly before the main gas attack. Lobbed over the fence in a wide arch they were hardly threatening, yet they became the impetus for the gas. Once again, a futile exchange of power, messages from the mute, on both sides.

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Since Kalandia was closed, traffic toward Jerusalem backed up for what may have been kilometers. Toward Ramallah, likewise, it only creeped. I walked. I found a toilet in a gas station, relieved myself, and then noticed a few serveeces (shared taxis) were moving toward Ramallah. I boarded one. And soon found myself in central Ramallah. After a delightfully ample turkey shuwarma followed by chocolate ice cream at Rukabs, I borrowed the Rukab man’s phone and reached Fareed. Let’s meet at Rukab’s, I suggested. He replied, I’ll be there in a few minutes. He was.

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On the wall of Kalandia refugee camp

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKS 

Palestinian, Israeli protest marks Women’s Day.” by Zena Tahhan

Hundreds of Palestinian women march on Qalandia to protest Israeli occupation,’ by Anne Paq and Ahmad Al-Bazz

In Photos: Int’l Women’s Day in Israel-Palestine,” by Activestills

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In an Israeli shopping mall 

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Model of Yad Vashem

Excerpts from my journal as I explore the situation in Palestine and Israel

March 6, 2015, Friday, Golden Gate hostel, Old City, Jerusalem, Israel-Palestine

PHOTOS:

(Warmer, low 60s, sunny, calm.)

“I’m sure [my memory] only works one way,” Alice remarked. “I can’t remember things before they happen.”

“It’s a poor sort of memory that only works backwards,” the Queen remarked.

“What sort of things do you remember best?” Alice ventured to ask.

“Oh, things that happened the week after next,” the Queen replied in a careless tone.

Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll

Building on my idea yesterday [March 5, 2015] to ride the rails of Jerusalem’s 3 year old light rail system, connecting settlements, aka “neighborhoods,” and Palestinian towns, not sure where or why, completely spontaneously, drawn magnetically, Yad Vashem turned into the main event. As I wrote to a close friend first and then adapted for others (one of the greatest gifts of digital writing):

today i visited yad vashem, my third time (my first was in 2003 with a delegation and later with a friend around 2008). now completely redone, it’s designed as a prism by moshe safdie whose modular homes i love.

this museum is truly, in my view, too much: not the topic but the quantity of exhibits—repetitive, floor to ceiling photos, media blasting out everywhere. i doubt many can take in more than a morsel or two. a separate art exhibition of drawings, paintings, frescoes, etc helped me much more to understand the holocaust. many pieces were profound in tone, execution, technique, and meaning. art became a survival tool, not only of the individual artist’s spirit but of the suffering itself—a powerful visual testimony. i think you would have been very interested in it.

unfortunately yad vashem refuses to expand “never again for jews” to “never again for anyone,” ie, there is only one holocaust and nothing is comparable. a docent was fired in 2009 for mentioning deir yassin village and the nakba, not as equivalent horrors but as related atrocities.

i chanced onyadvashem. my mission was riding thejerusalem light rail from end to end, disembarking occasionally to walk thru a variety of neighborhoods, palestinian and israeli jewish, making and expressing thru photography differences and similarities. the day was crisp, sunny, dry, virtually cloudless, the beginning of early spring and the dry season. wildflowers bloomed, the air smelled fresh. nibbling on anything green, 4 goats crossed my path in a jewish neighborhood, heedless of me and traffic,.

The name Yad Vashem derives from a biblical account; it is not a translation of holocaust memorial museum as I’d wrongly supposed. The name emphasizes transforming anonymous victims into human beings by remembering and recording their names.

And to them will I give in my house and within my walls a memorial and a name (Yad Vashem), an everlasting name that shall not be cut off.

—Isaiah 56:5

How do others view Yad Vashem? Most reviews are respectfully affirmative: a highly emotional experience, well thought-out displays, good information, etc. Nothing about either the holocaust message in the context of the occupation or the esthetics of museumship. Here’s one lonely contrary review, by Michael Ratner, a Jew with holocaust roots:

…As saddened and horrified as we were by what we had just experienced [visiting the museum], we were all struck by the contradiction of having the museum in Israel, a country forged out of the theft of other people’s land and homes, a nation whose treatment of Palestinians had echoes of what we had just seen: walled-in ghettos, stolen houses and land, a segregated population….

Read more of Ratner 

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I rode the tram on the Jewish holiday known as Purim—the holiday commemorates Jewish survival in the 4th century BCE when in exile in Persia and threatened with annihilation, a Jewish woman, Esther, orchestrated resistance that led to the slaughter of many Persians. (One might note the parallel to the recent speech by Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu to the US Congress comparing Iran to various radical and brutal Islamic entities like ISIS.) Israeli kids were out of school, many including adults wore costumes such as fairy outfits, flaming red hair, angels etc. I photographed kids jumping on an air-filled device behind a school and in a mall receiving balloon crowns from a jester, while a stilt walker frolicked behind them. No sign of the holocaust today.

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In an Israeli Jerusalem settlement

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Mt Herzl Park

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Monument to Jewish soldiers, one of many to Jewish victims along a path to Yad Vashem

Leaving the train at Mt Herzl station, the last station south and west, I walked thru the park, admired its landscaping, stopped at the grave of the founder of Zionism, Theodore Herzl, passed graves of other Zionist notables, noticed signs about Yad Vashem, and eventually realized the museum must be nearby. Checking maps and asking direction of 2 women, I learned about a connecting path and walked the 2 km or so to the museum. There I had the experience I wrote about. Along the way I observed many monuments to Jewish suffering connected not only with the holocaust but with ongoing onslaughts. A life—a long history—of oppression. How odd, I’m not the first to note: these people, so long and so viciously oppressed, have turned into the opposite. Of course, in all the monuments, not a mention of the occupation of Palestine and the siege of Gaza.

Rarely remarked: the museum is near the site of Deir Yassin, while Yad Vashem itself is alleged to be built on an Arab village.

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Exiting Yad Vashem, facing west, the new life—also presenting a view of Deir Yassin, scene of a massacre during 1948

In the museum I photographed models of the gas chambers and furnaces at Auschwitz. (I did not see the exhibit about the Warsaw ghetto wall that I photographed on my first visit in 2003, while Israeli high schoolers listened to their teacher or docent explain about walls, but probably not about Israel’s construction of the “security barrier,” aka apartheid wall.) These models brought me painfully back to Auschwitz, my time there while on pilgrimage in 1995, living with the truth of the holocaust and my German people’s role in it. An eerie confluence of feelings struck me: Jews as victims, Jews as perpetrators of suffering, Germans as operators of the death apparatus, me as German, me possibly as Jewish. Perhaps this day will stand out as an early high point of my trip, reminding me of multiple truths coexisting in one organism—and one people.

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Model of the gas chamber at Auschwitz

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKS

Yad Vashem art exhibition, The Anguish of Liberation as Reflected in Art, 1945-47 

Yad Vashem fires employee who compared Holocaust to Nakba” by Yoav Stern

Israelis wounded in Jerusalem ‘terror attack'” by Palestinian motorist (March 6, 2015)
A Palestinian motorist rammed his vehicle into a group of pedestrians standing near a Jerusalem tram stop on Friday, injuring at least four, Israeli police said….

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Our ultimate end must be the creation of the beloved community.

—Martin Luther King, Jr.

Excerpts from my journal

PHOTOS (in two parts)

November 25, 2014, Tuesday, on the train east of Cleveland heading home to Cambridge

The main event of yesterday [November 24, 2014], other than my departure from Detroit after 3 weeks (which on the universal scale counts for very little) was photographing the Boggs School, a publicly-funded charter school. Initially the head, Amanda Rosman, seemed nervous about my presence and asked me to estimate how long I’d be in the school. She also cautioned me against photographing the kids of one family whose mother refused blanket permission for photography, a prohibition that baffles me, especially at such a renowned school as the Boggs.

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I was deeply impressed with the quality of education. The teachers seemed skilled in handling their subjects and discipline problems (the latter were frequent in one art class I observed, not in others). A main pedagogical principle is place-based education, meaning the students are to learn about where they live and go to school. One group, with the theme of orienteering, went for a walk around the block. When they stepped outside, the teacher, a burly fellow with thick arms teaching gym or physical education, asked them which directions were north, east, etc. I added and he agreed, what direction are the clouds coming from? and he added, and that means the direction of the storm—all central to moment and place.

[Place-based education is] local, and it’s connected to students in a way that they can identify with. It’s either a problem in their community or an event that’s happening, or it could be a geological phenomenon. But it’s something that they’re familiar with….so it means something to them. And then we ask questions about it.

—Cay Graig, Vermont teacher

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After the walk —perfect for me because it shows the East-side neighborhood, typically deteriorated—they built something inside that I failed to locate and photograph.

Another teacher dealt with garbage, putting on the board 3 key questions: what happens to our garbage, where does it go, and what does it mean to throw it away? She had them write in their notebooks, and then read from them. Later she showed them an effecting movie about garbage.

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The school runs kindergarten thru 5th, in 3 groups, something like kindergarten, 1-2-3, and 4-5. One teacher wears a hijab, about 1/3 the other teachers are black. Amanda, now softened toward me, not overseeing me as she did at our first location, the playground, and apparently assured I will do the school well, is a cofounder. I promised to send her a selection before I post, to make sure no kids whose parents refused permission are included.

Upon entering I noticed immediately two things: pizza for lunch and the policy of choices rather than self-control. The latter came up when a teacher in a contentious situation, rather than preaching self-control, reminded the student that he had choices. This reflected a conversation with my dear friends, Anne and Fred, when Anne advocated the choices approach. A good principle to keep in mind—with one’s self as well as others.

Because Thanksgiving was later in the week, let us think about Native Americans

Other observations: the art teacher showed them drawings of Indian language symbols in the context of the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. (I wonder what spin they’d put on the traditional Thanksgiving story, probably a more accurate one.) Water bottles with names were in many rooms, presumably an effort to teach conservation. On my second pass at the bottles I photographed them with neighboring houses in the background. Often I used my Canon camera’s pullout viewfinder so I could hold the camera at my waist level, thereby distracting the children so they noticed me less.

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Our challenge, as we enter the new millennium, is to deepen the commonalities and the bonds between these tens of millions, while at the same time continuing to address the issues within our local communities by two-sided struggles that not only say ‘no’ to the existing power structure but also empower our constituencies to embrace the power within each of us to crease the world anew.

—Grace Lee Boggs, The Next American Revolution: Sustainable Activism for the Twenty-First Century

Now the big story of that event, altho minor in the grand picture (too bad that I have no photos), this meant a great deal to me: wind. Gusting to more than 50 mph, swiveling between south and north, it blew me to the school, but ferociously resisted me on my little pedal machine (my folding bicycle) later when I tried to return home from the school. It nearly blew me over when I left the protection of a building and entered an intersection. I shifted down to the lowest gear to make headway against the tumultuous wind. Crackling, snapping, flaring, ripped-by-the-wind power lines forced a detour. I thought I might not make it without the intercession of either a divine being or someone like my neighbor Johnny with his huge truck. One block from the school, it blew over my bike when I stopped to photograph a recently burned house, stepping thru bags of what turned out to be shit to get a position. The wind-induced fall damaged my bike light needed in the dim, dank, afternoon darkness. Riding on the leeward side of buildings, on sidewalks, I achieved my objective: home. Thank god, humdilila. Outside my home I washed the shit off my boots and bike pedals and brought my bike inside.

My bike ride thru the wind might represent the school’s course thru the perils and challenges of troubled but perhaps recovering Detroit.

Down the street

Burnt house

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKS

Boggs School website

Boggs School Facebook page

A story about the founding of the school

Place-based education

“The Boggs School Oral History Project: Linking Youth and Elders to the Past, Present and Future,” by Laura de Palma, December 2014

Children’s Voices, Dave Eggers Illustrates Stories by Elementary Schoolers,” by Maria Russo, December 2014

Detroit Walk-In Portrait Studio, a video about a photographic project at the school conducted by Corine Vermeulen, December 2014

New coalition on Detroit schools unveils its membership,” by Ann Zaniewski, December 2014

Activist Boggs honored for work toward social justice,” by Amy He, December 2014

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Homes in Palmer Woods, a district of Detroit

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Excerpts from my journal

PHOTOS

November 19, 2014, Wednesday, Detroit, Karen’s house

Extremely cold, upper 10s, overcast, calm—light snow expected over the next several days.

 A big day with Colin Connair (formerly of the Detroit police department, now a sergeant with the Grosse Pointe Park police department). First the absences. We did not manage to visit the functioning Detroit police station as I’d hoped—they never responded to Colin’s requests. We did not get permission to photograph the private security company in Palmer Woods that he told me about—altho I do have a tentative visit lined up for this early afternoon but I think I’ll cancel for several reasons: 1. Colin is not available to accompany me and he is a central feature in the photos and he presents himself as a police officer which might sweeten the conversation. 2. It is frigid and snow is expected, making biking difficult. And 3. I have a date with Kim at 3:30 pm for the New Work events of the afternoon and evening. So I might request a postponement.

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Home of a Grosse Pointe Park woman murdered in this garage by a killer allegedly hired by the woman’s husband

Despite those setbacks we did photograph in Grosse Pointe Park, his home city, two sites of crimes—the murder of a woman allegedly by her husband and a robbery in an alley. Plus a barrier erected by the city to block easy access from Detroit [since partially removed]. Maybe not the most dramatic photos but they can offer a taste of life in Detroit and environs.

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Detroit side

Barrier between Grosse Pointe Park and Detroit, from the Detroit side

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Looking into Detroit from the other side of the barrier

Colin showed me the gas station that was the site of a shooting, the victim badly injured and bleeding, customers stepping over him as he lay there—as a Detroit police officer Colin came upon this scene later. And another site, a vacant lot, was the scene of a raging fire during a frigid time—Colin doubles as firefighter, common in small towns to conserve resources.)

Scene of a crime in Detroit that Colin responded to when on the force

The gas station where a man lay bleeding

We explored a rehabilitated housing complex which appears to house mixed income people. And the Roosevelt Hotel, the squat I thought the two guys at Manna’s kitchen told me about. But it is being renovated and seemed tightly secured. Other buildings near the intersection they’d named, roughly 14th and Vernon, did not look like squats. That Colin was willing to explore with me heightens my love and respect for him.

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Roosevelt Place Hotel, under renovation, across from the abandoned Michigan Central Train Station

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The hotel next to what remains of two buildings named Imagination Station, both burned and gutted, one ripped down

We cruised thru Palmer Woods, hoping to bump into private security in their Hummers. No luck. I made a series of photos of the houses, each distinctive, most of them exceedingly elegant. We found the so-called Bishop’s House, once occupied by the city’s bishop, now sold to private interests. In preparation for this, it was made “profane,” i.e., all religious articles removed including the Stations of the Cross and the papal throne, whatever that might be. We never found the Fisher Mansion that Spenser, Barbara’s husband, told us about.

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Catholic bishop's former residence

Catholic bishop’s former residence

We joked about the church and its wealth. I told him about the day before meeting Father Tom who runs a women’s shelter, much like that of Shelly Douglass in Birmingham Alabama (Tom and Shelly know each other). The two residences represent the two poles of the Catholic Church—“royal splendor” and “catholic worker grit.” Similar to the gap between Palmer Woods and a somewhat less affluent Grosse Pointe Park, and most of Detroit.

I thought I recognized the home of Barbara and her husband Spenser, but I was mistaken. A woman appeared in a second floor window, peering at me suspiciously. She called, what do you want?

Is this the home of Barbara H?

It is not!

Do you know where she lives?

I don’t!

All very curt, unneighborly and indicative of fear.

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Photo courtesy of internet

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Dale Brown of Threat Management Center checks in on an elderly woman in the Boston Edison neighborhood in Detroit, Mich., AP Photo | Detroit Free Press, 2011

Colin phoned the security company, Threat Management  Division/Century Security (TMD), formerly known as Recon, identified himself as a police officer, said he was with his friend, a photojournalist from Boston, explained we’d like to talk with them about how they work, said this is not an expose. I complimented him on his phone presence and asked again whether he’d consider moving into detective work. No, he likes what he does, street patrol in a car as a sergeant partly because of the hours.

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Colin and I discussed our work, how we both are drawn to danger and accept it. He asked me about danger when I photograph in Israel-Palestine, whether I’d ever been threatened with kidnapping. Yes, I have, and I told him about the time I and friends searched for the site of Rachel Corrie’s murder, when we encountered armed men, they looked inside the car and saw me, how I believed I was about to be kidnapped, but I was shockingly calm. He reminded me of the occasion when a man he was about to arrest leaned forward in the driver’s seat and could have pulled out a hidden gun. And the many times during a street chase that ended with capitulation of the suspect.

He works 2 back-to-back 12-hour shifts, 7 pm to 7 am, with 2 days off between. Which he finds ideal for his family life, 4 kids by 2 marriages, the youngest in pre-school. He calls this stage “the last days of my many-year nightmare with young kids.”

How do you deal with boredom, Colin? I asked. He replied, as a friend says, the Internet is a great boon for cops. Grosse Pointe Park cops know where all the open Wi-Fi hotspots are in the city. When I was doing street patrol in Detroit, I often read books during my down times.

We discovered that he was raised on Franklin Street in Cambridge. I told him where my younger daughter and her family live and he replied, I grew up next door! My mom built a trellis for the grape vine that is on the border fence. I remember looking over that fence at the set back house where your family now lives.

This coincidence is yet another element in what I call our “line up,” elements of our close friendship. On a lesser level, it’s like my friendship with Dan Turner—many eerie correspondences, seemingly incomprehensible. Colin is one of my Detroit treasures—a gateway to Detroit divergences and contradictions.

A stop for coffee and donuts

Donut and coffee stop

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKS

Palmer Woods

“Palmer Woods Historic District”

“The Other Detroit” by Ta-Nehisi Coates, February 2011
The city’s grandest enclave clings to the dream.

Threat Management Division Of Recon Security Palmer Woods
Palmer Woods channel 2 story demonstrates the efficacy of the Threat Management Center V.I.P.E.R.S. bodyguard training program. By creating non-violent outcomes through non-offensive, non- intrusive tactics, strategies and logistics preventing the conditions that lead to inappropriate societal conditions that are not conducive for a good quality of life.

“Homegrown Documentary Focuses on Paramilitary Security Force in Detroit” by Allan Lengel, December 2012
The movie “Detroit Threat Management” by Jacob Hurwitz-Goodman

“Fisher Mansion sells for $1.6 million in Detroit’s Palmer Woods,” September 2014

“Detroit’s Fisher Mansion to be retreat for addicts,” by Christine MacDonald and Joel Kurth, September 2014

“The Cities of Grosse Pointe Park and Detroit have reached an agreement regarding the construction of Piazza Square.  The following links contain an artist’s rendering and street plan for the new Piazza Square:  Artist Rendering & Approved Joint Plan.”

“Road barriers aim for safer streets in Detroit neighborhood”

“$10,000 reward offered in Grosse Pointe teen’s death,” by Mara MacDonald [recently increased to $100,000]
Local real estate developer offers reward for information

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