I first got to know about the workshop on the last day in Syria. "If Marta thinks that people want a meeting at 9.30 at night she’s got another thing coming" said Brit Stephanie. "I’m fed up with the same complaints and ideas coming every single year, and nobody doing it themselves. Elaine and Detta have full time jobs. People should do things themselves if they want something done".
This is a big problem of FtW. There are many new people every year, but of course the core group have seen the same "complaints and ideas" come up year on year, and perhaps do not want to revisit them. And Elaine and Detta certainly work supremely hard to get such a massive project up and running (cycling?). But complaints and ideas are supposed to help move FtW along, help it develop and be more effective - we are all here because at one point we believed in its aims, and we want those aims realised.
It's quite depressing when the workshop starts with a presentation on last year's suggestions, which include many of our own problems. Some of them don't need any extra work: for example, the programme is too full, and more sleep would make a massive difference to everyone, but it's actually less work to sort out fewer activities. Workshops I've already banged on about I know, but as last year's participants also realised they would have made the whole trip more comprehensible to everyone, and given a forum for ideas and learning, which many of us are here for.
And so on. When we finally get onto discussions in smaller groups it is past 11 and many leave for bed. On our table it quickly turns out that I am here for almost opposing reasons than others, when the issue of including Israeli women turns up. I feel attacked by some of the comments: apparently it is me who doesn't understand FtW and I should learn rather than suggest. Catalonian Gisela gently supports me "It is called Follow the Women" she reminds one rather militant Palestinian, who only wants support for Palestine in general: "Why don't men and children deserve peace too?".
So the workshop is actually making me feel worse. Perhaps it should be a benign dictatorship rather than take everyone's point of view: if there was clarity on the website there would be unity on the ground. Instead, we are all here for a woolly bundle of reasons and spend a lot of time arguing fruitlessly.
And if Israeli women are invited, I was told, all the Arab girls present will not come. Let them not come, says one Italian. Those that come in their place will be more able to think of peace.
Saturday 10 May 2008
Jordan
Mentally, I’m beginning to leave FtW, but I haven’t got quite enough integrity to leave physically, as Mary and Norma have. It’s the same for others: “I feel like I’m sacrificing my principles” says one Dane, but we all agree that it’s worth sticking it out for a variety of reasons; it’s an easy way into Palestine (“we’re just a tour group anyway” says Jutta), journalism (there are many journalists around, all wondering how to write about FtW), sticking things out, wanting to change FtW. Stine especially believes in the latter and wants to save the whole idea of FtW – she’s inspiring me to be more positive.
It’s a shame that I’m already tired and emotional in Jordan, as the co-ordinator here, German-Jordanian Marta, is wonderful. “At least I am a woman” she says, and has planned the best things that have happened in the trip so far. But I’m starting to drop out of the activities – I’m not cycling, and I’m feeling more and more alienated from the spirit of the enterprise.
So today I've been to the famous Books@Café, on Rainbow Street in west Amman, close to Kate’s and KK’s place (where I’m staying). I made my way to the Roman Amphitheatre (the only tourist site in Amman), guided by the sound of the peace chants. It was a lovely day, and actually great to see the girls...and in the evening comes the bit we’ve all been begging for: a workshop on Follow the Women. Woohoo for Marta.
It’s a shame that I’m already tired and emotional in Jordan, as the co-ordinator here, German-Jordanian Marta, is wonderful. “At least I am a woman” she says, and has planned the best things that have happened in the trip so far. But I’m starting to drop out of the activities – I’m not cycling, and I’m feeling more and more alienated from the spirit of the enterprise.
So today I've been to the famous Books@Café, on Rainbow Street in west Amman, close to Kate’s and KK’s place (where I’m staying). I made my way to the Roman Amphitheatre (the only tourist site in Amman), guided by the sound of the peace chants. It was a lovely day, and actually great to see the girls...and in the evening comes the bit we’ve all been begging for: a workshop on Follow the Women. Woohoo for Marta.
Friday 9 May 2008
Palestinians on a peace cycle: there will never be peace
Instead of just moaning, as I and lots of others are guilty of, the Catalonians are pro-actively organising mini-meetings and interviews. One bus journey has been spent with a small group of Palestinians.
We talked for about an hour, during which time we covered: life in Palestine; the electoral system; the present political situation (and their own views); and finally the peace process. I was also trying to talk them out of their naivety about the West, and what we, as representatives of the West can do for them, and trying to move the conversations on, away from the victim stories and onto some sort of plan for the future.
They do not want a two-state solution – that is impossible; it is their land, all of it. (In fairness, these are among the more extreme Palestinians on FtW, and they are not all like this.) A one-state solution is impossible because Israel is so strong and America backs Israel. They don’t want dialogue because they have tried that and they no longer trust Israel. So what’s the solution? Shrugging: “We don’t know. We have no idea.” So what next; what can we do now? “We don’t know.” Do can we have peace? “We hope so; we always hope so.”
Right. I start again: no one-state solution, no two-state, no dialogue: no peace. Right? They look crestfallen. Right. No peace? No. Never? Never. Khalas? Khalas. Abadan? Abadan.
I don’t know what we’re doing here.
We talked for about an hour, during which time we covered: life in Palestine; the electoral system; the present political situation (and their own views); and finally the peace process. I was also trying to talk them out of their naivety about the West, and what we, as representatives of the West can do for them, and trying to move the conversations on, away from the victim stories and onto some sort of plan for the future.
They do not want a two-state solution – that is impossible; it is their land, all of it. (In fairness, these are among the more extreme Palestinians on FtW, and they are not all like this.) A one-state solution is impossible because Israel is so strong and America backs Israel. They don’t want dialogue because they have tried that and they no longer trust Israel. So what’s the solution? Shrugging: “We don’t know. We have no idea.” So what next; what can we do now? “We don’t know.” Do can we have peace? “We hope so; we always hope so.”
Right. I start again: no one-state solution, no two-state, no dialogue: no peace. Right? They look crestfallen. Right. No peace? No. Never? Never. Khalas? Khalas. Abadan? Abadan.
I don’t know what we’re doing here.
A border with a difference
Jordan seems bent on proving to us that crossing a border can be a joy. We are met with not one, but two bands, and the whole area of customs and passport control is shut down for a party for us. I’m not sure what happens – perhaps because of general exhaustion, or relief after hours on buses – but we all erupt into dancing and singing and laughing, for hours. Sometimes the bands compete with each other and so one has to go outside, taking many women with them, but then we come together again for dibke, the widespread traditional Arabic communal dancing, performed in a endless chain.
The food comes out after an hour or so, and we settle down outside to eat, and talk to our new Jordanian supporters (again, mostly men, although at least here the co-ordinaters are women and definitely working within the spirit of FtW that I would like to see more of).
Again, not entirely reality, but more joyful than anything so far. Welcome to Jordan…
The food comes out after an hour or so, and we settle down outside to eat, and talk to our new Jordanian supporters (again, mostly men, although at least here the co-ordinaters are women and definitely working within the spirit of FtW that I would like to see more of).
Again, not entirely reality, but more joyful than anything so far. Welcome to Jordan…
Safety First
“If you don’t have a helmet, you don’t ride” shouts the exasperated Jawwad from Beirut by Bike who is looking after the team. This is never enforced, in fact people seem oblivious, despite the four accidents on the first day in Syria, including one who would have smashed her skull without a helmet, instead of breaking her nose. (There was also a journalist lying in the road for a good photo: he hadn’t recovered consciousness by the evening.)
People are complaining about the Arab girls’ ways of cycling, especially Palestinians and Syrians. They are not too stable, and stop and turn (and wobble) without warning. Jawad helps to explain: “It is not allowed to cycle in this country especially in Damascus, so they have no experience. We sent them to the gym 3 times a week for a month before the ride but it is not enough, and not enough to get any street sense.” Steph, the attendant first-aider and Elaine’s staunchly supportive sister chips in: “They cycle around holding their food and their water and bags in their hands, and wonder why they can’t keep control of their bikes”.
We are supposed to be empowering women by encouraging them to ride; many say that it is a breakthrough for them just to be allowed to be on a bike, which is great. But what price? We are probably lucky that nothing worse than a broken nose happened.
People are complaining about the Arab girls’ ways of cycling, especially Palestinians and Syrians. They are not too stable, and stop and turn (and wobble) without warning. Jawad helps to explain: “It is not allowed to cycle in this country especially in Damascus, so they have no experience. We sent them to the gym 3 times a week for a month before the ride but it is not enough, and not enough to get any street sense.” Steph, the attendant first-aider and Elaine’s staunchly supportive sister chips in: “They cycle around holding their food and their water and bags in their hands, and wonder why they can’t keep control of their bikes”.
We are supposed to be empowering women by encouraging them to ride; many say that it is a breakthrough for them just to be allowed to be on a bike, which is great. But what price? We are probably lucky that nothing worse than a broken nose happened.
Thursday 8 May 2008
Leaving Syria
“F*** that country” says Jordanian KK “and come chill with us”. He’s not understood that I need to get out of the group rather than out of the country but now he comes to mention it I am feeling much as I did when I left Syria after a year in 2006: pretty revolted. It’s the gap between what we’ve seen and what’s going on: mazut, the fuel, went up from 7 to 25 SP (Syrian pounds) per litre - that’s a rise of over three times in one hike while we were there. There were mass protests: life is already hard in Syria, so what will happen when winter kicks in I dread to think. I spent the winter of 2005-6 in layers of jumpers, even inside the apartment, because mazut was too much for us. (It actually turned out that Yusuf the doorman was stealing most of it so we probably could have afforded it, but still, it was too expensive then, even without theft, for others.) So people are worried and scared about the future, and we are having dinners and parties. Of course, we have to eat, and of course we are cycling so there isn’t a lot of time for exploring the society, and with so many women it is difficult to do so, but we have been overprotected from reality. The roads are closed and lined with MTN and FtW publicity and pictures of the president only. This is the image of Syria we have to take away with us – and apparently to tell the people back home.
I don’t know if I can carry on with FtW after this: we have been used to promote the Syrian regime which I have hated for years.
I don’t know if I can carry on with FtW after this: we have been used to promote the Syrian regime which I have hated for years.
Syrian hospitality
We have been greeted at every pitstop with flowers and smiles and food and water; with people lining the roads calling and waving and chanting; often there are shows of traditional dances and music, much as in Lebanon. There have been so many dances that I’m having trouble which costumes come from which part of the region/country/area, but it is clear that they have all been specially prepared for us. Who is feeding us, I wonder; many people in Syria, especially outside the cities, are poor, and rely on charity themselves. Are the sponsors trying to give a good impression of the country, with the famed Arab hospitality? [Even the bogeymen Israelis know about this: later, a representative from the Israeli ministry of tourism asks us about it – “yes, I’ve heard it’s wonderful round there”.] The welcomes are not spontaneous, that much is clear, but they seem genuine and enthusiastic. It is difficult to talk in depth, even in Arabic, as there is little time, and they are shy and mostly ask the questions: “do you like our country? Do you like our food? Is it different to your country?”. Mette pushes it on this one: “Well, yes, it’s different; we live in a democracy, you know?”. The doctor who wants to make it to Canada looks just a little uncomfortable. “Yes, I know. It’s just like this.” Why does he want to go to Canada? “Well, you know.” We do know.
The children are also very prepared, often giving their own performances (sometimes military complete with uniforms), and often with placards prepared at school: [photos]
We are not acknowledging their nationalism. A common chant has been: “Allah, Syria, Bashar, only” repeated over and over – not particularly welcoming to a large group of foreigners. Would we welcome foreigners with such explicit displays of our country's good? Norma tells me about Northern Ireland during the Troubles. "People needed strangers to tell them that they were kind, hospitable, welcoming, sociable, and they needed to tell themselves it too. They were always worried about what the world thought of them, and they needed that reassurance."
Yes, Syria is hospitable, but no-one is questioning the why and the how and the wherefore.
The children are also very prepared, often giving their own performances (sometimes military complete with uniforms), and often with placards prepared at school: [photos]
We are not acknowledging their nationalism. A common chant has been: “Allah, Syria, Bashar, only” repeated over and over – not particularly welcoming to a large group of foreigners. Would we welcome foreigners with such explicit displays of our country's good? Norma tells me about Northern Ireland during the Troubles. "People needed strangers to tell them that they were kind, hospitable, welcoming, sociable, and they needed to tell themselves it too. They were always worried about what the world thought of them, and they needed that reassurance."
Yes, Syria is hospitable, but no-one is questioning the why and the how and the wherefore.
The Golan Heights
[Back home, Petros asks me: “What was the worst bit?”. It was as follows.]
I have been here before, with the Peace Cycle, in 2006. The point is to go to the Shouting Hill and yell messages through a loudspeaker; there are loudspeakers on the other side of the UN-patrolled valley, and this has been the method of communication between families divided by Israel’s occupation for 40 years. (I don’t know about mobiles. Perhaps they carry on like this just to annoy the Israelis living there – I’m intrigued to know what the settlers think about random foreigners yelling at them from time to time about peace.)
This visit is very different from 2006. There are many more people on the trip, and the sponsors are much more powerful: everyone was given a Syrian flag, and the observation platform is covered with women enthusiastically supporting an oppressive dictatorship.
It makes me angry. And then the speeches start, and it makes me cry. The last time was with dear Syrian friends, and we laughed about the Israeli houses being so much nicer than those on the Syrian side – we suggested (in whispers) that the Syrians over there just shut up and take Israeli citizenship, with the jobs, the money, the education and generally higher quality of life that that entails.
Of course the land, in international law, belongs to Syria, and so some element of justice is on their side, but there is still no need for the nationalism. I ask Detta about it. “I hate all flags” she says, “but there was nothing I could do about it this time”. She’s in a difficult position, I can see, given the sponsors are part-owned (at least) by the president's family.
I have been here before, with the Peace Cycle, in 2006. The point is to go to the Shouting Hill and yell messages through a loudspeaker; there are loudspeakers on the other side of the UN-patrolled valley, and this has been the method of communication between families divided by Israel’s occupation for 40 years. (I don’t know about mobiles. Perhaps they carry on like this just to annoy the Israelis living there – I’m intrigued to know what the settlers think about random foreigners yelling at them from time to time about peace.)
This visit is very different from 2006. There are many more people on the trip, and the sponsors are much more powerful: everyone was given a Syrian flag, and the observation platform is covered with women enthusiastically supporting an oppressive dictatorship.
It makes me angry. And then the speeches start, and it makes me cry. The last time was with dear Syrian friends, and we laughed about the Israeli houses being so much nicer than those on the Syrian side – we suggested (in whispers) that the Syrians over there just shut up and take Israeli citizenship, with the jobs, the money, the education and generally higher quality of life that that entails.
Of course the land, in international law, belongs to Syria, and so some element of justice is on their side, but there is still no need for the nationalism. I ask Detta about it. “I hate all flags” she says, “but there was nothing I could do about it this time”. She’s in a difficult position, I can see, given the sponsors are part-owned (at least) by the president's family.
LANDMINES
This is so terrible that I can’t believe no-one’s screaming at Detta about it.
When I got off the bike at the Golan Heights, I started talking to local women, and so lost the group for a bit. They were wandering round the bombed out villages (left by Israel in 1967: never rebuilt as “a statement” the locals tell me), taking photos, and – because the organisers in Syria were men and there weren’t enough toilets – crouching in bushes. Someone from the organising team saw them and yelled: “Come back! Come back! There are LANDMINES in there!”.
Recap: WE WERE NOT TOLD THERE WERE LANDMINES IN A VILLAGE WE WERE VISITING.
Perhaps Esma al-Assad should follow Diana’s example more closely.
When I got off the bike at the Golan Heights, I started talking to local women, and so lost the group for a bit. They were wandering round the bombed out villages (left by Israel in 1967: never rebuilt as “a statement” the locals tell me), taking photos, and – because the organisers in Syria were men and there weren’t enough toilets – crouching in bushes. Someone from the organising team saw them and yelled: “Come back! Come back! There are LANDMINES in there!”.
Recap: WE WERE NOT TOLD THERE WERE LANDMINES IN A VILLAGE WE WERE VISITING.
Perhaps Esma al-Assad should follow Diana’s example more closely.
Is this Palestine?
The second day in Syria: I cycled! I was standing with the Danes, and as people were cycling off Jutta’s bike was left – “she’s on the tandem” said doctor Mette, “just get on!”. I slapped on the suncream and followed the women.
We’re heading for the Golan Heights, and I realise what I’ve been missing. It’s a wonderful way to travel through a country, especially alongside so many women.
At one point, a sweet Polish girl cycles alongside. “I’m sorry to be so ignorant” she said, “but can I ask you some questions?”. I feel so sorry that people who came to learn feel ashamed to ask questions. “Is this Palestine?” No, I say, feeling alarmed that others don’t have any comprehension of where we are and what we’re doing either. I explain that we’re in Syria, and Israel is occupying the Golan Heights, and I point to the Israeli settlements, and the UN patrols.
So she asks: “What’s it got to do with Palestine?”
Good question. Detta only speaks of Palestine: she has said explicitly this is the only reason we’re here, despite the multiple aims on the FtW website including supporting women's rights, which is why I'm here. So what has it got to do with Palestine? It’s the same old rhetoric: Israel bad: therefore anyone fighting Israel is to be supported. Further information and discussion is not required.
I carry on talking to the Pole. She tells me the reason for the land being so hummocky, based on her own knowledge. “It is like the land at the end of my garden, in our orchard. Our land was the frontline in the second world war: once when my father was digging in the orchard, when he was a child, he actually found a body. The bombs and grenades left their mark on the land, just as you can see here: it is all, what do you say, wavy?”
Others have contributions from their own different backgrounds, most notably the Irish. But these conversations are haphazard; taking place on buses or bikes or while eating - all interesting and stimulating but we are all begging for group workshops to share and develop the ideas.
But nothing doing.
We’re heading for the Golan Heights, and I realise what I’ve been missing. It’s a wonderful way to travel through a country, especially alongside so many women.
At one point, a sweet Polish girl cycles alongside. “I’m sorry to be so ignorant” she said, “but can I ask you some questions?”. I feel so sorry that people who came to learn feel ashamed to ask questions. “Is this Palestine?” No, I say, feeling alarmed that others don’t have any comprehension of where we are and what we’re doing either. I explain that we’re in Syria, and Israel is occupying the Golan Heights, and I point to the Israeli settlements, and the UN patrols.
So she asks: “What’s it got to do with Palestine?”
Good question. Detta only speaks of Palestine: she has said explicitly this is the only reason we’re here, despite the multiple aims on the FtW website including supporting women's rights, which is why I'm here. So what has it got to do with Palestine? It’s the same old rhetoric: Israel bad: therefore anyone fighting Israel is to be supported. Further information and discussion is not required.
I carry on talking to the Pole. She tells me the reason for the land being so hummocky, based on her own knowledge. “It is like the land at the end of my garden, in our orchard. Our land was the frontline in the second world war: once when my father was digging in the orchard, when he was a child, he actually found a body. The bombs and grenades left their mark on the land, just as you can see here: it is all, what do you say, wavy?”
Others have contributions from their own different backgrounds, most notably the Irish. But these conversations are haphazard; taking place on buses or bikes or while eating - all interesting and stimulating but we are all begging for group workshops to share and develop the ideas.
But nothing doing.
Wednesday 7 May 2008
Disneyland Disaster
As with all Follow the Women days, we get more and more behind schedule as the day progresses. We leave the presidential palace two hours late, and make our way to one of the most expensive restaurants in Damascus, Elf Layla wa Layla, or A Thousand and One Nights, on the airport road. It is open air: it is freezing: it is windy. We are handed light cotton coats by the Arabian-dressed "servants", complete with curly-toed shoes and turbans, and led to tables covered with mezze - humous, moutable, fatoush, tabbouleh, labneh etc - all the normal elements of an Arabic dinner, but in uber-luxury-style.
Ola (an old Syrian friend, previous Syrian co-ordinator but not participating this year as a protest against the sponsors control) appears, cold and annoyed, and whisks me off to her table. Soon after, the show begins, and the Disneyland theme emerges. It is the 1001 Nights story, shown in dance and speech - speech in Arabic which few understand - complete with a flying carpet and fireworks. Sumptuous food is served throughout.
It's another obscenely expensive part of the Syrian trip: we are staying in a 5-star hotel; eating at the most expensive restaurants, and most horrific of all: we do not know that Palestinian and Iraqi women are there as our guests. They have prepared presentations and presents for us; they have been waiting in the cold, and we ignored them, because we did not know that the restaurant had been booked out and everyone there was our guest. We thought it was public, and people were out there as a normal, albeit expensive, evening outing.
One woman turned to Mary: "Do you believe in that there can be peace?". "I have to" Mary said, "that's why we're here. Do you?" "I used to. But then I see people who say they're here to help, coming to the most expensive restaurants, and you don't even want to talk to us. If you don't care, who does?" [Mary, I didn't record this conversation, it's from memory - am I right? Email me if not! I'm sure that's the crux of it, anyway.]
Mary, and of course everyone else who gets to know about this, is horrified. What exactly are we doing here? Is it a tourist trip? What are we supposed to say when we get home: "Syria has lovely hotels and restaurants"? I suppose it does, if you have the money to enjoy it. Yay for Syria, unless you mind about the political prisoners held without trial and subject to torture, or the lack of freedom of speech, or the biased education system which does not lead to any sort of cross-cultural understanding.
Ola (an old Syrian friend, previous Syrian co-ordinator but not participating this year as a protest against the sponsors control) appears, cold and annoyed, and whisks me off to her table. Soon after, the show begins, and the Disneyland theme emerges. It is the 1001 Nights story, shown in dance and speech - speech in Arabic which few understand - complete with a flying carpet and fireworks. Sumptuous food is served throughout.
It's another obscenely expensive part of the Syrian trip: we are staying in a 5-star hotel; eating at the most expensive restaurants, and most horrific of all: we do not know that Palestinian and Iraqi women are there as our guests. They have prepared presentations and presents for us; they have been waiting in the cold, and we ignored them, because we did not know that the restaurant had been booked out and everyone there was our guest. We thought it was public, and people were out there as a normal, albeit expensive, evening outing.
One woman turned to Mary: "Do you believe in that there can be peace?". "I have to" Mary said, "that's why we're here. Do you?" "I used to. But then I see people who say they're here to help, coming to the most expensive restaurants, and you don't even want to talk to us. If you don't care, who does?" [Mary, I didn't record this conversation, it's from memory - am I right? Email me if not! I'm sure that's the crux of it, anyway.]
Mary, and of course everyone else who gets to know about this, is horrified. What exactly are we doing here? Is it a tourist trip? What are we supposed to say when we get home: "Syria has lovely hotels and restaurants"? I suppose it does, if you have the money to enjoy it. Yay for Syria, unless you mind about the political prisoners held without trial and subject to torture, or the lack of freedom of speech, or the biased education system which does not lead to any sort of cross-cultural understanding.
The Princess Diana Touch
We were invited to the Presidential Palace – renamed for the occasion the People’s Palace – causing quite a stir of excitement. The First Lady, Asma al-Assad is a keen cyclist and normally cycles with FtW, but this year she hosts us at the palace instead. We pile onto buses with maximum security country by country, counted and herded like sheep (a feature of our time in Syria) and drive up the hill to the obscenity that is the PP ($90 million paid for by Rafik Hariri according to Syrian Shadi; he says “why would we kill him if he gives us presents like that?”). It’s not only obscenely big, it’s also obscenely ugly. “Typical communist feel” says a Dane, “trying to impress with scale”. I can’t prove the similarity as we’re not allowed to take a single thing in with us – not a bag, mobile, notebook or camera.
We are met with juice and sweets and music (two girls playing oud and qanun), and stand talking for 40 minutes before the First Lady graces us with her presence, though Detta tells me she wasn’t late, we were early. She’s cut her hair and looks pretty and glamorous, but she’s incredibly thin in a celebrity-anorexia way. (Background: Asma was born in London and lived there until she was 25 except for boarding school, also in England. She worked in investment banking in London, marrying an ophthalmologist and having children. Her husband then became President of Syria without much warning.) She speaks beautifully for 10 or 15 minutes; she’s welcoming and personable and talks of the issues we are supposed to be here for: women all over the world want the same things for their children, women can communicate with each other on a different level than politics, women are crucial to forming any society. But she also talked about Syria which was interesting; there are almost 2 million refugees here (mostly Iraqi and Palestinian; a huge proportion in a country of 17 million), and we are doing good work to improve their lot. I wonder what she really thinks of the aims and achievements of FtW.
And then the People’s Princess act begins. Oh she’s so charming! says everyone who’s ever met her. A lovely, down to earth, friendly first lady! She spoke to every single woman there showing gracious interest, with Detta trotting along beside her: she’s seduced by it all without any understanding of the country (I can say that because she says it herself). The Syrian girls were putting me through my paces in an attempt to make me speak Arabic to “Madame”, rehearsing sentences and making me nervous. They then managed to stand behind the first lady while I was talking, and although I did it, she wasn’t really interested.
British David, a signed-up future supporter, summed it up. “It’s the Princess Diana touch”. The hair, dress, figure, manner of speech to her public, not to mention her charity work and general care of the populace seems similar to the point of imitation.
And then she goes home to her husband, Bashar al-Assad. More on this when I'm safely home.
We are met with juice and sweets and music (two girls playing oud and qanun), and stand talking for 40 minutes before the First Lady graces us with her presence, though Detta tells me she wasn’t late, we were early. She’s cut her hair and looks pretty and glamorous, but she’s incredibly thin in a celebrity-anorexia way. (Background: Asma was born in London and lived there until she was 25 except for boarding school, also in England. She worked in investment banking in London, marrying an ophthalmologist and having children. Her husband then became President of Syria without much warning.) She speaks beautifully for 10 or 15 minutes; she’s welcoming and personable and talks of the issues we are supposed to be here for: women all over the world want the same things for their children, women can communicate with each other on a different level than politics, women are crucial to forming any society. But she also talked about Syria which was interesting; there are almost 2 million refugees here (mostly Iraqi and Palestinian; a huge proportion in a country of 17 million), and we are doing good work to improve their lot. I wonder what she really thinks of the aims and achievements of FtW.
And then the People’s Princess act begins. Oh she’s so charming! says everyone who’s ever met her. A lovely, down to earth, friendly first lady! She spoke to every single woman there showing gracious interest, with Detta trotting along beside her: she’s seduced by it all without any understanding of the country (I can say that because she says it herself). The Syrian girls were putting me through my paces in an attempt to make me speak Arabic to “Madame”, rehearsing sentences and making me nervous. They then managed to stand behind the first lady while I was talking, and although I did it, she wasn’t really interested.
British David, a signed-up future supporter, summed it up. “It’s the Princess Diana touch”. The hair, dress, figure, manner of speech to her public, not to mention her charity work and general care of the populace seems similar to the point of imitation.
And then she goes home to her husband, Bashar al-Assad. More on this when I'm safely home.
Tuesday 6 May 2008
Welcome to Syria from MTN
It has very quickly become apparent that the theme and even the message of Follow the Women changes with the country. The sponsors are not just giving us money, they are dictating the project, meaning that Follow the Women is a vehicle for their publicity. The lack of control renders the project at best ineffective, at worst immoral, as in this particular case we are whole-heartedly supporting a dictatorship with a bad human rights record.
Detta doesn’t have a problem with this lack of control. “I don’t know what’s going on” she says, “MTN [the mobile phone company sponsor, owned by the cousin of the President] are sorting everything out for us”. This is not said in a frustrated way, but rather contentedly. Later she has to deal with it, when MTN cancels the trip to the refugee camp in Damascus and there is widespread mutiny. They say there is no time but eventually back down; it turns out they are right when there is no time to fit in the rest of the programme. We visit the first lady (see above) and get to the restaurant two hours late – a true disaster (also see above).
There is also no control over the media. "That's the first thing you have to think about in a conflict situation" says Mary, experienced in the Northern Irish peace process. "You have to tightly control the press releases, the press presence, the message getting through. You have to check and correct and control." The ethos of FtW is that all publicity is good publicity, and any and all participants are allowed to be interviewed. This means that quotes in national newspapers included "I am taking part...to show the world that the Middle East is a place of peace". Erm, I thought we were raising awareness of conflict. "Women for Peace" turned into "Peace for Women" in Syria Times; JO magazine in Jordan said: "The Bike-Ride for Peace promotes the beauty, accessibility and general safety of the area as a destination for foreign visitors". What are we supporting - the ministry of tourism? A couple of Danish girls think so: "This is just a tour group...it's a cheap and easy way of seeing the region".
I was interviewed in Arabic and have no idea about potential double meanings or how my sentences could be cut. I was just excited and flattered that journalists thought my Arabic was good enough, but really rather stupid to do it: I began to say no, on Mary's advice.
[That first day in Syria has been the first indication of my eventual disgust at the whole project of Follow the Women. There were two comments from Detta that really got to me on the bus that evening – the first chance I’d had to talk to her about my concerns. One was about the government in this country. “I can’t believe” she said “that Esma [the first lady] would marry anyone bad. She’s so lovely, she would never marry someone who would do these things.” I mention the political prisoners and widespread torture. She looks thoughtful. “Well, you know more about the area than I do.” She’s not prepared to learn from me though, nor anyone else who disagrees with her line. The second point helped demolish my belief in the project of FtW: “In the beginning, the women was a gimmick, actually” Detta tells me. A gimmick. “To spread awareness of women’s lives in the region” was a gimmick – for what? “The media were going to give us more attention if we were all women.” I tell her that’s why I’m here, to support the women in the region. She hastens to reassure me, “of course, it’s become important to me. It’s just that I’m not a feminist, actually”. It’s hard for me to talk to someone so naïve, when I’m so impressed by what she’s achieved yet so dismayed by her attitudes and speeches and actions. As a journalist on the team, I’m struggling to know what exactly to write about. It can’t be as positive as I was hoping for.]
Detta doesn’t have a problem with this lack of control. “I don’t know what’s going on” she says, “MTN [the mobile phone company sponsor, owned by the cousin of the President] are sorting everything out for us”. This is not said in a frustrated way, but rather contentedly. Later she has to deal with it, when MTN cancels the trip to the refugee camp in Damascus and there is widespread mutiny. They say there is no time but eventually back down; it turns out they are right when there is no time to fit in the rest of the programme. We visit the first lady (see above) and get to the restaurant two hours late – a true disaster (also see above).
There is also no control over the media. "That's the first thing you have to think about in a conflict situation" says Mary, experienced in the Northern Irish peace process. "You have to tightly control the press releases, the press presence, the message getting through. You have to check and correct and control." The ethos of FtW is that all publicity is good publicity, and any and all participants are allowed to be interviewed. This means that quotes in national newspapers included "I am taking part...to show the world that the Middle East is a place of peace". Erm, I thought we were raising awareness of conflict. "Women for Peace" turned into "Peace for Women" in Syria Times; JO magazine in Jordan said: "The Bike-Ride for Peace promotes the beauty, accessibility and general safety of the area as a destination for foreign visitors". What are we supporting - the ministry of tourism? A couple of Danish girls think so: "This is just a tour group...it's a cheap and easy way of seeing the region".
I was interviewed in Arabic and have no idea about potential double meanings or how my sentences could be cut. I was just excited and flattered that journalists thought my Arabic was good enough, but really rather stupid to do it: I began to say no, on Mary's advice.
[That first day in Syria has been the first indication of my eventual disgust at the whole project of Follow the Women. There were two comments from Detta that really got to me on the bus that evening – the first chance I’d had to talk to her about my concerns. One was about the government in this country. “I can’t believe” she said “that Esma [the first lady] would marry anyone bad. She’s so lovely, she would never marry someone who would do these things.” I mention the political prisoners and widespread torture. She looks thoughtful. “Well, you know more about the area than I do.” She’s not prepared to learn from me though, nor anyone else who disagrees with her line. The second point helped demolish my belief in the project of FtW: “In the beginning, the women was a gimmick, actually” Detta tells me. A gimmick. “To spread awareness of women’s lives in the region” was a gimmick – for what? “The media were going to give us more attention if we were all women.” I tell her that’s why I’m here, to support the women in the region. She hastens to reassure me, “of course, it’s become important to me. It’s just that I’m not a feminist, actually”. It’s hard for me to talk to someone so naïve, when I’m so impressed by what she’s achieved yet so dismayed by her attitudes and speeches and actions. As a journalist on the team, I’m struggling to know what exactly to write about. It can’t be as positive as I was hoping for.]
From under the Lebanese sky
I am in an odd get-up. I am sitting in an open pick-up truck – which is serving as the media truck - surrounded by photographers and film-crews, with a Lebanese flag draped over my head and computer, held in place by the kind Italian cameraman’s cap (photo coming up).
It might seem a waste to be completely covered, given that I’m driving slowly through the Beqaa valley, surely on of the most beautiful anywhere, luscious, fertile and green, surrounded by snow-capped mountains under the sun, but this leg of the journey has been going on for a while and we’re going really rather slowly (accompanying the cyclists), so I feel that I’ve seen quite a lot of it already. It’s an opportunity to write…at first I did think that the scenery would be an idyllic inspiration for writing, but it proved impossible to see the screen…well done the Italian for fixing it for me.
I can’t believe I spent yesterday travelling on the bus when I could have been on the media truck, open air, travelling slowly right among the cyclists. Silly Hussam from PYO – “you’ll be much more comfortable on the Pullman” yeah right.
We started in Qublas this morning, arriving to yet another spectacular welcome, with traditional musicians and dancers guiding us to the speech area. After interminable speeches not translated from Arabic (except for sweet and moving ones from school-children who spoke in Arabic, English and French), there was general mingling and attempts at communication. The whole village was there for us: school was out, men were giving out roses, women flags, and during the speeches saj manqoosh (flat bread stuffed with zatar or yoghurt) and water was handed around.
And then the cycling started. I didn’t appreciate this wonder at all yesterday. Crawling along the road winding through the valley, I can see cyclists strung out from as far as the eye can see, back and front. They’re in good spirits for the most part, although it is hot. Not much in the way of uphill…maybe I’ll go for it soon. But I’m kind of enjoying my role as observer rather than participant, and I like having time to speak: to the other journalists, to the banished men, to the girls who get off the bikes.
The first pit-stop was at the Kefraya vineyard, and yes, hospitality did include wine-tasting, and it was lovely dry white. I shouldn’t have had it though, as it probably contributed to a horrible headache I developed with the help of the sun; I spent the rest of the cycling day in the cab of the huge bike truck, asleep.
And then: onto Damascus.
It might seem a waste to be completely covered, given that I’m driving slowly through the Beqaa valley, surely on of the most beautiful anywhere, luscious, fertile and green, surrounded by snow-capped mountains under the sun, but this leg of the journey has been going on for a while and we’re going really rather slowly (accompanying the cyclists), so I feel that I’ve seen quite a lot of it already. It’s an opportunity to write…at first I did think that the scenery would be an idyllic inspiration for writing, but it proved impossible to see the screen…well done the Italian for fixing it for me.
I can’t believe I spent yesterday travelling on the bus when I could have been on the media truck, open air, travelling slowly right among the cyclists. Silly Hussam from PYO – “you’ll be much more comfortable on the Pullman” yeah right.
We started in Qublas this morning, arriving to yet another spectacular welcome, with traditional musicians and dancers guiding us to the speech area. After interminable speeches not translated from Arabic (except for sweet and moving ones from school-children who spoke in Arabic, English and French), there was general mingling and attempts at communication. The whole village was there for us: school was out, men were giving out roses, women flags, and during the speeches saj manqoosh (flat bread stuffed with zatar or yoghurt) and water was handed around.
And then the cycling started. I didn’t appreciate this wonder at all yesterday. Crawling along the road winding through the valley, I can see cyclists strung out from as far as the eye can see, back and front. They’re in good spirits for the most part, although it is hot. Not much in the way of uphill…maybe I’ll go for it soon. But I’m kind of enjoying my role as observer rather than participant, and I like having time to speak: to the other journalists, to the banished men, to the girls who get off the bikes.
The first pit-stop was at the Kefraya vineyard, and yes, hospitality did include wine-tasting, and it was lovely dry white. I shouldn’t have had it though, as it probably contributed to a horrible headache I developed with the help of the sun; I spent the rest of the cycling day in the cab of the huge bike truck, asleep.
And then: onto Damascus.
Mother of all Martyrs
The first time I have specifically heard the issue of women discussed is from a Palestinian speaker (I've lost track of names and occasions, they seem to have blurred already).
"Women are important in the peace process" he tells us, and we all prick up our womanly ears, "they are the mothers and sisters and wives of martyrs".
Ah. That's it. We're here to encourage suicide bombers, maybe even have a few ourselves.
"Women are important in the peace process" he tells us, and we all prick up our womanly ears, "they are the mothers and sisters and wives of martyrs".
Ah. That's it. We're here to encourage suicide bombers, maybe even have a few ourselves.
Monday 5 May 2008
Byblos
We are bussed from Beirut to Byblos at rush hour, which takes hours - no-one knows quite how long because most have fallen asleep after the first day’s cycling. I bond with a Syrian girl who teaches me Egyptian, and so I end up sitting at a table of Syrians and Meoh, the only Japanese girl on FtW (she is small and sweet with a honking laugh which makes everyone else laugh, but under this is the mechanic who organisers Japanese cycling tours in Africa). We are in Edde Sands – a luxury health resort – and there is an luxury buffet to match. But first we have welcomes from the sponsor: Hizb as-Salaam (the Peace Party) of Lebanon.
The leader gives a rather different account of the situation we are supposed to be reporting back home. He begins with the usuals: Lebanese love life, and peace, and the middle east is a place of beauty and hospitality. He moves onto women: the very first time that anyone has touched on this subject, and talks about how, as women, we have something different to offer the peace process. There's a bit of confusion (for me, anyway) with his, "Masculine spouses are as good as feminine spouses".
But he soon warms up, and moves on to more controversial topics. “There are many powers preventing peace in the Middle East. But the most important is…” what did I expect? Israel, probably. His answer “Syria”. The girls on the table respond with humour and heckling; there is nothing that they haven’t heard before. “If Syria is not prepared to be in the 21st century, Syria will suffer but Lebanon will suffer too”.
The Syrians are getting het up. He moves onto Iran, predicting a war by November. The Iranian girls are getting upset. There is unease all around, but Mette and Jutta are cheering him on. “It’s so great to hear some criticism of something that isn’t Israel” says Mette. “And it’s true, Syria is supporting unrest in Lebanon”.
Hussam from the PYO comes to see the Syrians to apologise. "You know, we didn't know what he was going to say. He is hosting the dinner, you know? We cannot tell him what to say." What are we doing, just supporting anyone who will buy us food or pay for our hotel?
There are complaints about the speech, and after the sumptuous dinner (with wine) Detta stands up to smooth feathers. “We may have different opinions, but we are all entitled to them” she says. This would have been one of a myriad of issues that would have been great to discuss at workshops, thereby increasing understanding and not feeding misinformation and rumour.
The leader gives a rather different account of the situation we are supposed to be reporting back home. He begins with the usuals: Lebanese love life, and peace, and the middle east is a place of beauty and hospitality. He moves onto women: the very first time that anyone has touched on this subject, and talks about how, as women, we have something different to offer the peace process. There's a bit of confusion (for me, anyway) with his, "Masculine spouses are as good as feminine spouses".
But he soon warms up, and moves on to more controversial topics. “There are many powers preventing peace in the Middle East. But the most important is…” what did I expect? Israel, probably. His answer “Syria”. The girls on the table respond with humour and heckling; there is nothing that they haven’t heard before. “If Syria is not prepared to be in the 21st century, Syria will suffer but Lebanon will suffer too”.
The Syrians are getting het up. He moves onto Iran, predicting a war by November. The Iranian girls are getting upset. There is unease all around, but Mette and Jutta are cheering him on. “It’s so great to hear some criticism of something that isn’t Israel” says Mette. “And it’s true, Syria is supporting unrest in Lebanon”.
Hussam from the PYO comes to see the Syrians to apologise. "You know, we didn't know what he was going to say. He is hosting the dinner, you know? We cannot tell him what to say." What are we doing, just supporting anyone who will buy us food or pay for our hotel?
There are complaints about the speech, and after the sumptuous dinner (with wine) Detta stands up to smooth feathers. “We may have different opinions, but we are all entitled to them” she says. This would have been one of a myriad of issues that would have been great to discuss at workshops, thereby increasing understanding and not feeding misinformation and rumour.
From a cafe in Beirut 2: Beside the Sea
Beirut’s so beautiful…the sun’s going down, the light’s warm but the heat’s not so bad…though unfortunately the smell of arghileh isn’t quite enough to cover bad whiffs coming off the sea. It’s a relief to be alone actually; and a real relief to be with my computer, scrambling to remember all the conversations.
Tea with mint has just arrived, and life feels so good…
At the end of the second official day, and the first day of cycling, I’m exhausted without even having biked at all – I’m beginning to be scared of the prospect of cycling, even though the wonderful Danish room-mate-doctors have said I’ll be able to after a couple of days. I’m scared that I can’t manage it, and anyway I’m having a lovely time just talking. We got to one village a good half an hour before the women (it seems our bus driver for one isn’t very good at following women – there’s a long way to go for our cause, if that is our cause, of which more later) and talked to so many people – it was tough because the colloquial language was a pain but really rewarding. (At one point I had another Lebanese translating from their dialect into Beiruti Arabic for me.)
Locals in these villages that we're passing through are unbelievably welcoming: the whole village seems to turn out and provide a display of traditional dancing from men and children (never women); speeches, food, drink, flowers...how much is encouraged by the PYO organisers and how much is spontaneous is difficult to tell - the welcomes are unfailingly warm (especially shy and giggling girls who cluster around when they find I speak Arabic) but it is very carefully planned. The speeches are beginning to get a bit samey already and we're not even into Syria.
Some girls have been hopping on the bus for stages so I've talked a lot about what Follow the Women is for everyone; how they heard of it, what made them come, what they think it's about, what it will achieve, what it's what they expected...there's a surprising range of answers, which includes dissension in the ranks: the loose definition of Follow the Women works for a catch-all feel-good factor but it's difficult to work out what we're achieving.
But we’re off to dinner in Byblos now, so I must save my interviews for another time. I don’t know how I’ll keep up…the ratio of talking to writing time is not promising. Perhaps the ankle was a blessing in disguise…
Sunday 4 May 2008
Follow the Women?
When I first spoke to Detta Regan, the initiator and organiser, I got the impression that Follow the Women took a whole load of women to the Middle East in order to gain insight into women’s lives in the region, especially in, or as a result of, conflict. This impression was so strong that I wrote a press release to that effect, a press release which was checked and approved by Detta.
[A note on that same press release: “400 women from 39 countries including Afghanistan, Tajikistan, Iran and Iraq” turned out to be 223 women, from 28 countries not including Afghanistan, Tajikistan or Iraq. A few potentially good stories were complete non-starters.]
It turns out I was wrong, as were many of us, and we feel betrayed. Follow the Women can - and does - take on any cause, and any point of view, including (especially?) that of the sponsors. Apparently the organisation is “above politics”, though from the very first day and reiterated every day, politics dominated the speeches.
The first time we heard Detta speak in public was at the Sabra Shatila refugee camp in Beirut, which I spoke of below: she stood up and agreed with the passionate, and deeply political, Palestinian rhetoric. At the UNESCO opening ceremony it got worse: “All these things make me think that there’s a plot against this region. I’ll let you think about who’s behind it: it’s clear who’s benefiting” she said.
And there is the first clear statement of Follow the Women’s aims: “We are cycling for peace” she says. There is nothing about women, although the Yahoo group homepage says: "Follow the women is an ambitious initiative, to gather women to cycle for solidarity". It does not look promising: if it was about women it should have already been said. I came for the women: I don't know if I should I stick to my principles and just leave?
[A note on that same press release: “400 women from 39 countries including Afghanistan, Tajikistan, Iran and Iraq” turned out to be 223 women, from 28 countries not including Afghanistan, Tajikistan or Iraq. A few potentially good stories were complete non-starters.]
It turns out I was wrong, as were many of us, and we feel betrayed. Follow the Women can - and does - take on any cause, and any point of view, including (especially?) that of the sponsors. Apparently the organisation is “above politics”, though from the very first day and reiterated every day, politics dominated the speeches.
The first time we heard Detta speak in public was at the Sabra Shatila refugee camp in Beirut, which I spoke of below: she stood up and agreed with the passionate, and deeply political, Palestinian rhetoric. At the UNESCO opening ceremony it got worse: “All these things make me think that there’s a plot against this region. I’ll let you think about who’s behind it: it’s clear who’s benefiting” she said.
And there is the first clear statement of Follow the Women’s aims: “We are cycling for peace” she says. There is nothing about women, although the Yahoo group homepage says: "Follow the women is an ambitious initiative, to gather women to cycle for solidarity". It does not look promising: if it was about women it should have already been said. I came for the women: I don't know if I should I stick to my principles and just leave?
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