In Gaza adding Castrophe to Catastrophe

The streets are closed this morning still. Reportedly another truce was formed last night, but things remain as they are, this morning the house of Rami's brother was attacked with RPGs. I believe no one was harmed. Rami just came back from Cairo where he was in a car accident and had to have surgery. Now he has returned to this chaos, this hell where Palestinians are fighting each other rather than recalling the events of the nakba, the catastrophe that took place 59 years ago today when over 200,000 Palestinians were exiled to this place called the Gaza Strip. Ali Abunimah quotes Israeli historian Benny Morris, "the Jewish state would not have come into existence without the uprooting of 700,000 Palestinians. Therefore it was necessary to uproot them… There are circumstances in history that justify ethnic cleansing." Today Gaza is reaping the consequences of this “necessary” ethnic cleansing.

The only time I left home yesterday was to go to my favorite fruit store just down the street. The place was closed first the time in the course of the two years that I have been here. Three soldiers sat on the sidewalk in front of the sealed store. The kids in my building seemed to be loving the traffic standstill, all around my building they are playing football, using the roadblocks as goals, the guards are their spectators, no doubt tempted to lay down their guns and join in the game.

Earlier that day the Minister of Interior had resigned. This one man was the glue that held together a very shaky unity government. In a press conference he explained, "I cannot agree to be a minister without jurisdiction since we need deeds rather than words." During his time in the post he complained that neither Fateh nor Hamas gave him the jurisdiction he needed in order to control the rival factions on the streets. This Interior Minister was a figurehead.

The invisible hand stirring this pot of anarchy in Gaza is a vague entity called the “International Community.” With the USA at the forefront they have been trying to suffocate Hamas ever since they won a majority of parliament seats in democratic elections early last year. Over the course of Hamas’ tenure in government international aid has not been blocked but actually increased, with just one minor clause… that the aid be limited for humanitarian use. Thus 80% of Gazans survive from such handouts but are left without jobs and totally unempowered to provide their families with a livelihood. The donated money cannot be used to build a house, to create a job, to fix a street or to repair a sewage pipe or improve water facilities, but food can be carted into this prison and distributed to unemployed fathers and their children. What were to happen if this aid stopped flowing? Palestinians would actual go hungry, then we would see people starve, but the invisible hand won’t allow for that, because it would force the “International Community” to actually search for viable solutions to the crisis that has been brewing in the Gaza Strip since May 15th 1948.

Meanwhile, since their election loss the US has financed Fatah to train their military. Fatah party members have been recruited all across the Gaza Strip for intensive training in Gaza to prepare them for further training abroad.

Friday night my friends Jamal and Ibrahim came over to play cards. They are from Beit Lehya in the North of the Gaza Strip. That week Fatah had summoned Jamal for 45 days of intensive closed training starting Sunday, in exchange for 600 shekels, $150. Jamal told me a friend of his would get him excused from the training; he has no interest in participating in any military activities in Gaza. Ibrahim’s cousin is being trained in Russia; another cousin is about to return from Yemen after basic military training there. Over the past week heavy activity has been sighted at a number of Hamas training locations in Gaza. Funds reportedly are received from Iran and other donors.

The Gaza Strip has become the playground for world bullies to play out their differences.

It seems that since February when the Mecca Agreement brought about a unity government both Hamas and Fatah have taken this time of relative calm to build up their military wings. It took the two parties five weeks to agree on one man to play the mediating role of Interior Minister. Hani Al-Qawasmi was suggested by Hamas and approved of by Mahmoud Abbas’s office but he was a straw man with little if any authority from either party. Yesterday he finally threw in his cards and it seems the whole house of cards is collapsing in his wake.

This morning a Hamas man was killed. Later in the five Fatah National security members were reported dead after their convoy was ambushed. Two men that escaped were killed by the Israeli army at the border. 450 Fatah fighters entered Gaza today where they were training in Egypt. After not being able to leave his house this morning Dr Attalah has spent some hours in the hospital and now is returning home to be with his family. The shifa hospital where he works is desperately calling for people to donate blood. The area surrounding my friend Abu Ghassan’s house in Jabalya has been declared a Hamas territory; the block I love on is a Fatah stronghold.

Today, on the 59th memorial day of the Palestinian Nakba, catastrophe is being added to catastrophe.

Arundhati Roy on the Palestinian-Israeli Conflict

This is a 9 minute clip from the film "We." featuring Arundhati Roy. The title seeks to counter the western world war-cry of 'There is no you, there is only me'.

Watch the full length film.

What are you going to to do with this information?

Gaza, Calm before the Storm

This must be what they call the calm before the storm.

By 7pm all the main street intersections in Gaza city were filled with guards wearing face masks. It seems every time a new security plan is declared in Gaza the situation gets worse. This morning my friend Jamal greeted his neighbor Baha' Abu Jarad as he left his home for a days work, ten minutes later Baha’ was dead. Jamal, shaken up, informed me of the incident over the phone, while trying to hold back tears.


This morning I spent with the Sisters of Charity at their shelter for disabled children in downtown Gaza City. One boy, Abbas, can’t stop smiling, always active and excited about something unknown to me.


When I first started going to the shelter a boy called Na’el, with a consistent look of fear in his eyes, would hold on to me not wanting to let me go. Sister Delphina told me that was the first time since he had arrived at the home that he had allowed a male to hold him. Na’el is deaf and she assumed he had been abused by his father before he was dropped off at their shelter. Na’el can walk but he has to be holding on to something, either a person’s hand or a table, door or his little wheeled chair. So today sister Dolphina and I tried to get him to walk on his own because I am sure he can, he just doesn’t trust himself. As soon as I would try to let go of his hand to let him walk alone his face would fill with an immense expression of fear.

Today Gaza is filled fear. A fear that the economic crisis that affects everyone might overtake them. A fear that one day this seemingly unending hunt for a donation, for charity might leave one empty-handed. And a fear of the looming internal chaos in light of this shaky economic state of being.

The different atmosphere one senses in the Gaza Strip compared to the sister's home must have something to do with either place's warden. The Sisters of Charity live out an undying love and concern for the children in their care; Israel, legally responsible for a people they occupy, has thrown away the keys to a piece of land they would rather forget about.

One day soon Na’el will walk on his own.

I trust that one day Gazans will live the life of peace they so long to live, free of the closure, the embargo and the prison walls surrounding them today.

Photo Exhibition: 40 Years of Occupation

An exhibition curated by Israeli activists ActiveStills. In their own words:
"The territories occupied by Israel in 1967 multiplied its territory by three and was seen as the greatest success Israel could hope for. Is it truly a victory ? who are those who still pay the price for it? As victory celebrations are held in Israel the only narrative is that of the greatness and heroism of the state. While in fact settlements continue to expand on Palestinian land who's owners have been expelled, millions of people live in a reality of imprisonment, oppression, dispossession humiliation and denial of basic human rights. That reality is a mirror to Israeli society, an image it refuses to see. Those are the achievements of the war."

Go directly to Gaza: Hostages

Gaza, Robbed Love

Today I moved around Gaza City from meeting to meeting. On the streets movement was limited, as it is Thursday and at least for schools and government institutions the Hamas government has added Thursday to Friday to make for an unprecedented two-day weekend in the Gaza Strip.

This morning once again a new security plan was reportedly taking effect. One taxi driver told me the success of the plan would be seen only after 10pm tonight. I caught a hint of cynicism in his voice. If the lawlessness can be retained after dark then there might be some truth to this new “plan,” or else it would prove to be talk like the last one. Another driver told me, “I see no change, what security plan?” And yet another explained to me that the real issue was an economic one, as long as there are no jobs, there are no opportunities for the future, nothing, no matter what sort of plan is developed, would ever change anything.

The streets once again are littered with garbage as the municipality employees are on strike. Just two weeks ago the same garbage piles were littering the street, just higher, but I was told, since the workers never received what they were promised. They are now striking again. The stench of burnt waste fills the air.


Every taxi I entered today was old and worn, and somehow represented something of the state of the soul of this place and its people. One car had a metal bar welded behind the two front seats, I imagine, to keep them up. The owner of a car, which had the steering wheel held together with tape told me at night cars older than his were being stolen and still they say they are implementing security. Hopelessness could be heard in every word spoken to me; someone pointed out that still no one really knew where the British journalist was, is this the way we treat guests, he asked. In one vehicle there was talk about the owner of a shoe shop being kidnapped, when ransom was paid for him, the perpetrators took his brother and demanded further ransom.

In Gaza, these stories are told like the weather or sports is discussed in other places.

And the sense one gets is that it is inevitable that this society will implode like it did early on this year. How to reduce the hate for the murderer of your brother, how to suppress the anger one feel towards one’s government, towards the perpetrators of crimes, towards one’s occupiers? Israel’s policy of conquer and divide is succeeding. And the world is not listening and the misery, the frustration, the unemployment, the endless cycle of despair and the search for an ordinary life goes on. I have to confess that somehow all this is beginning to rob me of my love for this place.

Demands for Alan Johnston reported

It seems there is word about Alan Johnston.

The BBC is testing the tape that was sent to Aljazeera in Gaza. In the video demands are made for the release of Abu Qatana, a Palestinian held in a UK prison. It shows Johnston's BBC ID and pictures of Abu Qatana. This is the first demand of such a political nature made for a foreigner kidnapped in Gaza.

Let us hope that Alan's release is near.

Walking and Real Sardines

While I was crossing the border from Jordan I got a call from my friend Naser in Bethlehem. He had wonderful news for me, his oldest boy was going to have surgery to try and fix his walking disability that he has had since birth. The only bad news was that Naser was not yet able to collect the percentage of the surgery costs ($2,750) that he needed to cover. Mu'ad is one of the most expressive and happiest boys I have ever met. His difficulty in walking has not stopped him in the least from being an active and excited kid who mainly just wants to have fun and play with his father's friends.

On the road to Gaza Abu Alaa, my driver today translated the Hebrew news for me. Ismail Haniyeh the Palestinian prime minister threatened to kill Israeli captured soldier Gilad Shalit if Israel were to begin an incursion into Gaza. If this act were to be carried out Israel promised to kill Ismail Haniyeh and every other Hamas cabinet official.

After a 10 day trip to Cairo I am back in Gaza, home, sweat home. After walking through the corridors of the daunting Erez checkpoint I arrived at the last turnstile at which point I found Abu Amjad sitting on the floor waiting for the sliding gate to open which releases every traveler into the open-air prison of Gaza. Abu Amjad owns a factory in Gaza, he has been selling his goods to Israel for the past 22 years and today, without explanation, he was rejected entry there for the first time. Just another usual day for another Palestinian lacking the right of most any other human being traveling in a seemingly dignified country.

Jamal picked me up at the Gaza border and invited me to his house for lunch. We had sardines, I had never had the pleasure of eating anything but sardines from a can until I moved to Gaza. These fish are so small that you can actually just eat the whole thing, save the tail. Of course we also had mulukheya, and a nice little tomato/ onion dip and humos. Daher was sleeping when we arrived around 2pm and was rudely woken and dragged out of the room so we could sit there. Abdallah, the youngest met us at the door and spread the rumor that I was there for a visit.

Arriving at my house I found Ayman and Mohamed watching a movie there. I filled them in on my travels. Mohamed is just recovering from a fever. Tonight I ate two cookies I got at a goodbye party in Jerusalem yesterday. On the balcony I had a glass of wine that I bought at a monastery on my way to Gaza and smoked a cigarette. The fishing boats were out and their little lights filled the horizon, surrounded by the darkness, down below the presidential guard were making their rounds, chanting unintelligible chants, sirens filled the night from time to time, far away gunshots were heard at times.

PHOTO STORY: Dr Attallah's Farm: Something Beautiful

In December 2006 I visited what was once Dr Attalah’s farm for the first time. It had been destroyed by Israeli army bulldozers during an incursion in November of 2001. Just months after my visit Dr Attalah decided to take out loans and replant the land, and there, out of the destruction, to create something beautiful.

The land had lain barren for six years, bulldozed so severely that the two asphalt roads that once ran alongside the land had disappeared beneath the piles of sand. For three days two bulldozers leveled the land. It was almost impossible to determine the old boundaries of the land.

Dr Attalah is now in debt to the company that leveled the land, to the shop he purchased the used motor from and to the contractor that laid the foundation for the engine room. Until that last debt is paid the contractor will not build the actual building that ought to be there to protect the motor and provide a shelter for the workers.

Dr Attalah sits with nearby farmers to determine an agreement for the renting of his land. The farmer pays for renting the land and covers the costs of planting the crops and does all the farming. He will then pocket all the income of the crops.

This is Abu Rushdie, the man who will rent and farm Dr Attalah's land.


Dr Attalah and Abu Rushdie discuss plans for the barren land.

It was only by chance, or providence that Dr Attalah's old well was found at all.

Abu Mahmoud, the mechanic and Dr Attalah are childhood friends. Abu Mahmoud came out to the land to make some repairs on the engine that is pumping water from the well.

The fields have turned a beautiful green.


Abu Rushdie's kids do a lot of the work here.


Yesterday homemade projectiles were launched into Israel and the Israeli army responded by firing missiles at a car in Northern Gaza, killing one. It was reportedly carrying the perpetrators. Disturbing the peace of others of both Israelis and Palestinians needs to be punished. Extrajudiciary assassinations are illegal under international law and must be condemned.

Such actions disturb the peace of the area that Dr Attalah and Abu Rushdie are farming their land.

In spite of death and the economic depression in Gaza, this green land is something beautiful.


If you feel like helping Dr Attalah pay back his debts,

email me.




I saw

Walking through the long passage that takes you into Gaza, I saw a man on a walker. Next to him walked another, completely helpless as his companion moved forward at a snails pace.

Driving into Gaza I saw garbage piled up by the sides of the streets, often spilling over into it. The municipality’s garbage collectors have been on strike for nearly a week now. I don’t know for how long they have not been paid again. One large pile Jamal and I drove by was lit on fire and clouds of choking smoke filled the air there. We closed the windows and opened them again once we had passed.

We drove to the Al-Ahli hospital, downtown Gaza City, where the administration was tense and scared about the situation in Gaza. A few days ago a bookstore across the street and two internet cafes elsewhere were bombed. The blast blew out all the windows in one of the hospital buildings. I crossed the street to see the bombed shop, which the staff was repairing yet once again. The bookshop experienced a similar blast less than a year ago. I saw a friend of mine, a painter, with a smile, painting the metal door, inside a burnt smell filled the air and sadness filled the eyes of those within.

Back on the street I saw a boy searching through garbage on the side of the street. Jamal got a flat tire and we stopped by a mechanic. The only person inside was a boy, I thought he was 8, Jamal thought 13. He put a jack under the car and took some time to fix the punctured tire. As we drove off Jamal pointed out the obvious, “it is wrong for a boy at this age to be working like that.”

By chance, over lunch, I met the brother of the man who was leaving Gaza with the walker. He had been caught in inter-factional fighting and shot seven times all along one leg.

How one endures this, I don’t know.

Like 1948

The girl pointed to her throat and made a mark where the water had reached answering a question that was never posed. Two weeks after a flood of sewage wiped away parts of the Bedouin village in Northern Gaza the three little girls I encountered, along with 250 other displaced families are living in tents, like 1948.

I was there to distribute parcels to 20 families containing just a few of the vital needs, clothes, shoes and baby’s milk. One woman exclaimed, “the world has forgotten us,” she lost everything in the flood, her home, her kitchen, the children’s clothes. They were left with the clothes on their back. She was, like her ancestors, living on the floor, in a tent, with “UN” stamped in blue letters, with a small gas stove and a few mattresses, her kids roaming the desert hills all around, like 1948.

Wasfi Al-Abraq’s home was one of the first to go. He was tending his field when the floods came. He wasn’t able to reach his children and wife. They managed to escape through the back of the house, but not much was left of it. The walls have crumbled, electricity sockets and light switches remain at knee level because of the swamp of sewage and sand that entered and remained in Wasfi’s home. The small tent provided by the UN didn’t provide enough shelter for Wasfi, his wife and eight children. So they built a shack adjacent to the tent, like 1948.

Dozens of homes collapsed, cars were crushed, fields gone, cupboards, kitchens, bedrooms, furniture, all beyond use. Graffiti on the walls of a shell of a house said “in the past we had a home,” another wall read, “here drowned the child, Jamal.”

The existence of elderly women living on the hot dessert ground, children brushing their teeth at public faucets, roaming spaces of donkeys and goats doubling as a neighborhood playground and shacks and tents void of food, clothes and really much of anything, all posed the question, what lead to this?

The place felt like a camp created for famine victims escaping a drought and yet this calamity was man-made. What are the 5000 inhabitants of the Bedouin village actually doing next to massive pools of sewage that like this last one could break because they are overused? These families who once roamed the Negev dessert to practice their trade raising livestock were one day herded into the tiny space of Um Nasser, the Bedouin village. Their rights robbed on behalf of the rights of others, in 1948.
The tents on those hills and the displaced people within them are a hollow echo of those fateful days of 1948.

They are a stark reminder to the world of a past that is easier forgotten.