"The best thing about Follow the Women was the hotels."
Spoken by Mette, agreed with by many.
What are the ethics of staying in 5 star hotels when on a peace ride? I realise that some luxury abodes have been sponsorship in kind (and the problems with that is an entirely separate issue), so it's not as if we're depriving the needy - even if we slept on the street the Palestinians wouldn't get any more money. But sometimes they have been chosen by the organisers, despite being paid for out of the FtW pot. Some people think that putting money into the non-existent tourist industry in Jericho is a good thing (who does stay in that resort when we're not there, anyway?). This is an old economic argument, used to justify servants and other luxuries, but is it really true that the money gets to locals in Jericho? Does a Palestinian own the hotel? How much are the service staff paid? If we stayed in a hostel would the poor locals get more than the waiters at the hotel?
What's really strange are the juxtapositions. We go home from visiting refugee camps to hot baths and room service. A day spent in passing borders and checkpoints is finished with sheesha on a terrace overlooking the pool complete with palms and a multitude of waiters. Many are bridling with the money and time wasted on luxury, which doesn't add much to an understanding of the country.
"And don't even get me started on the carbon footprint of 250 women in 5-star hotels" says American journalist in Jordan. An environmentally disastrous bike-ride...how very original...
Thursday 15 May 2008
Wednesday 14 May 2008
Follow the Bush (Mrs)
Mette and I blag our way into the "Western Wall Tunnels" (488 metres of tunnel running alongside the buried Wailing Wall): apparently, you’re supposed to book a place by email two days in advance so be warned. It's an incredible museum; the result of over a hundred years of archaeological work containing many thousands of years of rich Holy Land history.
One of the miracles of the wall is a huge stone which has cracked to produce a perfect map of Israel. “Oh, including the occupied territories” said Mette when she saw. A giggle from a Brit, silence from the rest.
We watch a short film about how to excavate a site, and when we are leaving our Stepford wife of a tour guide points to a chair and said “that’s where Mrs Bush sat this morning”. We left one group obsessed by a first lady to follow another.
One of the miracles of the wall is a huge stone which has cracked to produce a perfect map of Israel. “Oh, including the occupied territories” said Mette when she saw. A giggle from a Brit, silence from the rest.
We watch a short film about how to excavate a site, and when we are leaving our Stepford wife of a tour guide points to a chair and said “that’s where Mrs Bush sat this morning”. We left one group obsessed by a first lady to follow another.
Safe bathing - with an armed guard
Mette, Jutta and I have lunch together in Nablus after a morning with the Women, and go into town by ourselves. It's lucky I didn't get my only tourist impression from Bethlehem...Nablus was aggressive, explicitly.
"Is your grandfather Jewish?" I was asked (in Arabic, nobody here spoke English), after asking the way to the Tomb of Joseph (in the Danish guidebook). Erm, no. Admitting to Danish nationality didn't go down at all well, and Mette and Jutta retired to play volleyball with the children (all boys) around. "I'm Hamas" said another man (no women to be seen; men appearing from nowhere). "What do you think about that?". I explain we're tourists. "Jewish?" Erm, no, again. "Why do you want to see Joseph?" We've just been to Jacob's Well, and the guidebook says we're near to the tomb.
Eventually they point the way, and the posse of boys accompanies us, jostling and generally harassing us. We try to go into the bombed out shell of a tomb, but shouts from police and soldiers stop us. We are met by the same suspicion though reined in: "Why do you want to go in?". They radio for permission ("Just say British" says the superior after hearing "British and Danish") and then lead the way. "Israel did all this damage" they tell us, fairly needlessly. I ask how old the tomb is. "Old, old, 200 years at least". I look very baffled indeed. "Surely not", I say, wondering how bad my Arabic is. "Thousands, right?" They look baffled. "The son of Jacob died min zaman [ages ago]." "But this isn't the son of Jacob".
Light dawns.
- There are two Josephs?
- Of course.
- This isn't the Prophet Joseph?
- No no no!
- Where's the Prophet Joseph?
- In Egypt.
We laugh.
They laugh a lot, and explain that this is a very famous Muslim Sheikh from the 18th century, targeted by the Israelis on account of his importance to the locals. No wonder they were suspicious.
Soon after we bump into an official from the tourist board who is horrified that we are by ourselves, and gives us an armed guard, who then waits for an hour while we bathe - in a lovely Turkish bath with all trimmings - steam, scrub, massage, soak, shower and lying/dozing on a huge heated marble table. A waste of Palestinian police time? Almost certainly, but almost certainly nicer for him too: sitting drinking tea waiting for bathing Western beauties to appear.
We return to the Women restored, though of course everyone is jealous again, and we are being majorly disapproved of - not without cause. Looking back, I should have left days ago.
"Is your grandfather Jewish?" I was asked (in Arabic, nobody here spoke English), after asking the way to the Tomb of Joseph (in the Danish guidebook). Erm, no. Admitting to Danish nationality didn't go down at all well, and Mette and Jutta retired to play volleyball with the children (all boys) around. "I'm Hamas" said another man (no women to be seen; men appearing from nowhere). "What do you think about that?". I explain we're tourists. "Jewish?" Erm, no, again. "Why do you want to see Joseph?" We've just been to Jacob's Well, and the guidebook says we're near to the tomb.
Eventually they point the way, and the posse of boys accompanies us, jostling and generally harassing us. We try to go into the bombed out shell of a tomb, but shouts from police and soldiers stop us. We are met by the same suspicion though reined in: "Why do you want to go in?". They radio for permission ("Just say British" says the superior after hearing "British and Danish") and then lead the way. "Israel did all this damage" they tell us, fairly needlessly. I ask how old the tomb is. "Old, old, 200 years at least". I look very baffled indeed. "Surely not", I say, wondering how bad my Arabic is. "Thousands, right?" They look baffled. "The son of Jacob died min zaman [ages ago]." "But this isn't the son of Jacob".
Light dawns.
- There are two Josephs?
- Of course.
- This isn't the Prophet Joseph?
- No no no!
- Where's the Prophet Joseph?
- In Egypt.
We laugh.
They laugh a lot, and explain that this is a very famous Muslim Sheikh from the 18th century, targeted by the Israelis on account of his importance to the locals. No wonder they were suspicious.
Soon after we bump into an official from the tourist board who is horrified that we are by ourselves, and gives us an armed guard, who then waits for an hour while we bathe - in a lovely Turkish bath with all trimmings - steam, scrub, massage, soak, shower and lying/dozing on a huge heated marble table. A waste of Palestinian police time? Almost certainly, but almost certainly nicer for him too: sitting drinking tea waiting for bathing Western beauties to appear.
We return to the Women restored, though of course everyone is jealous again, and we are being majorly disapproved of - not without cause. Looking back, I should have left days ago.
Tuesday 13 May 2008
Finally: It's all about Palestine
We're in the Best Eastern Hotel in Ramallah and have had an impromptu workshop, courtesy of Stine. A few hours on, I feel terrible that I suggested Stine for the role, given the grief she got - people reacted so badly when all she was asking for was feedback about the aims of FtW in order to start organising a conference in December.
Stine is so clear, she is so positive, she is so committed, but just asking for a discussion she had to field so much criticism from tired, emotional and in many cases angry women. It wasn't clear quite what the reason for all the aggression was. Later, Elaine told me that asking for Israeli involvement was an attack on the Palestinians, despite the fact that FtW have tried to get them onboard.
When the discussion was supposed to be opened up, someone stands up and says "What I want to know is where's Detta?". Poor Detta. In asking Stine to do this for her, she opened up the whole organisation and I was pleased about it. But she came forward, and told us how it is.
"For me, this is all about Palestine. That's how it started, and that's what it's about. And if the aims change" - she starts getting choked up - "then, well...then I won't be part of it anymore". There are cheers from some, while others look on disillusioned.
This is the truth of it: not the FtW website, not the media stories. It's not about the region, it's not about women, it's not about dialogue: it's about showing solidarity with Palestinians.
But what is this website I've run across? "Detta's Dream" c. 2004: A Youth Counselling Service. What DOES she want? What have we done towards her dream of this service? For that matter, what solidarity have we shown the Palestinians? I guess we have given many hope, and that really is fantastic. But where does it lead? What will have changed by next year's trip?
Stine is so clear, she is so positive, she is so committed, but just asking for a discussion she had to field so much criticism from tired, emotional and in many cases angry women. It wasn't clear quite what the reason for all the aggression was. Later, Elaine told me that asking for Israeli involvement was an attack on the Palestinians, despite the fact that FtW have tried to get them onboard.
When the discussion was supposed to be opened up, someone stands up and says "What I want to know is where's Detta?". Poor Detta. In asking Stine to do this for her, she opened up the whole organisation and I was pleased about it. But she came forward, and told us how it is.
"For me, this is all about Palestine. That's how it started, and that's what it's about. And if the aims change" - she starts getting choked up - "then, well...then I won't be part of it anymore". There are cheers from some, while others look on disillusioned.
This is the truth of it: not the FtW website, not the media stories. It's not about the region, it's not about women, it's not about dialogue: it's about showing solidarity with Palestinians.
But what is this website I've run across? "Detta's Dream" c. 2004: A Youth Counselling Service. What DOES she want? What have we done towards her dream of this service? For that matter, what solidarity have we shown the Palestinians? I guess we have given many hope, and that really is fantastic. But where does it lead? What will have changed by next year's trip?
Oh Little Town...
Ea and I decide to go to Bethlehem, and before we know it we have a taxi full - Mette and Camilla are keen to come too. There are others; Marie in her principled way sticks to cycling to show support to the Palestinians who have prepared for us. Others just cannot fit in our taxi and it's too late to find their own. Later, people are eaten up with jealousy when they hear, and I start to feel even worse about nominally still being a part of the group.
But it was awesome.
We are dropped at the Church of the Nativity, but head straight to the Peace Centre on the other side of the square. It's huge and new, and very welcoming: Mette is directed to toilets and I stay to hear about activities in Bethlehem, which are many. We pick up a map and sundries: the programme for the Palestine Literary Festival (which has unfortunately just finished - organised by Ahdaf Soueif; other delights included Seamus Heaney, William Dalrymple, Esther Freud, Andrew O'Hagan...I'm researching into how many went straight onto the Israeli Literary Festival.)
(And "Palestine Now" - substantially bigger than Time Out Jerusalem (or was it Israel - I remember events for Tel Aviv; Mette or Jutta, will you let me know?).)
We head up the hill, looking for coffee, and revelling in the bustling life, pretty buildings, souqs stacked with fruit and veg...we stop and look at George making pancakes; they're a food for Ramadan, but he, as a Christian, cooks them all year round and is therefore very popular with Muslims. We want to buy some, but he explains that they're for taking home and stuffing with nuts and honey and baking. At our crestfallen faces he takes some fresh ones and sprinkles them with sugar for us, refusing to take money.
We continue up, eventually stopping for water and coffee. We then walk down the hill, stopping to take photos of churches (there seem to be hundreds and hundreds), buy raq chickpeas (which we eat like peas in the pod), browse in the souq...we then try and find a restaurant to meet my friend Ben in. This involves lots of walking (despite the endless "just 10 minutes from here") and getting lost, and so we see a lot of the city: streets which remind us of Italy, streets which remind me of a richer Damascus, churches with posters for Christian martyrs...and all the time we do not see a single other westerner. We are given free bread when we ask the way, and then a lift when it happens again: "We want you to know that this is a good place to visit" says the man taking us. We have a coke at the restaurant while waiting for Ben, but a text comes to say he's down the street: the waiter refuses to take money just for drinks. We have so far been given pancakes, bread, a lift, and drinks, for free.
We track Ben down and have lunch, and pick his brains about the region: finally we have a chance to ask anything we like, and we take it. (Sorry Ben. Come back to England soon and I'll buy you a pint.) So we finally understand about the different dates for the "celebrations" of the founding of Israel (different calendars, and the "birthday" happening in the evening whereas Nakba, the "catastrophe" starting the next day); we learn about Christianity in Palestine (a not as great a proportion as in Syria, but it's up to 30% in Bethlehem): we even learn to hope for the area. Ben's lived and worked in Palestine, and is still optimistic...it was so wonderful to see him...
But he is busy, so we wend our way back to the Church of the Nativity. We have a brief stop to commiserate with the poor dying tree of peace (I tried to give it the kiss of life), and then have our only negative impression of Bethlehem. A man shows us the way to the Milk Grotto telling us that "it shuts in 10 minutes, we must go now, now" - we had an hour or more, but he took us via shops of his friends. "Very good prices for you, you know our children are starving, we have to feed our children" he tells us manically, again and again, and it gets horrible claustrophobic. I know that their tourist industry has died down somewhat, but that hassling that happens all over the world never goes down well with me. I gave money in the church, but I'm afraid we didn't give him anything to help feed his children.
The Milk Grotto, where Mary stopped to feed Jesus to keep him quiet on their flight, was naff: the Church of the Nativity was glorious. We get an equally hyperactive guide, but he was entertaining and fun and nice. He whipped us around the three churches (Catholic, Armenian Orthodox and Greek Orthodox), and took us down into St Jerome's little cave (WHY did he work in the dark anyway?) and then to the sight of pilgrimage itself: the stable. Or rather, cave. We tried to fix our childhood nativity scenes into the place but it really was tough, and our guide objected to my notion of an inn: "It's a church!" It made me laugh too much to explain: the idea that Mary and Joseph and the donkey stopped at a church and asked to stay in their stable. But anyway...we couldn't see the real manger, we were told, as the crusaders stole it and took it back to Italy, but we did see the exact spot Jesus was born, marked by a star, and we felt the circle in the centre of the star and made our wishes known to Jesus...
The Catholic part was newer and plainer (and there was a big tour group singing Away in a Manger! Brilliant): the small Armenian and the large Greek parts were fantastically bling. We asked if there were ever fights "Oh yes" the answer came breezily, "sometimes a lot". He claimed his pitiful fee and a tip and ran off.
We got a public service back to Ramallah in time for the dinner on the schedule, but of course the group were behind, and were at Yasir Arafat's tomb. (I managed to say in front of Palestinians, "oh, I don't care about Yasir Arafat." Oops. One told Camilla "Your friend really should be careful." Oh dear.) We sat in the hotel lobby with tea and computers. Dorothy and Carolynne (Irish) joined us and listened with jealousy to our stories...
But it was awesome.
We are dropped at the Church of the Nativity, but head straight to the Peace Centre on the other side of the square. It's huge and new, and very welcoming: Mette is directed to toilets and I stay to hear about activities in Bethlehem, which are many. We pick up a map and sundries: the programme for the Palestine Literary Festival (which has unfortunately just finished - organised by Ahdaf Soueif; other delights included Seamus Heaney, William Dalrymple, Esther Freud, Andrew O'Hagan...I'm researching into how many went straight onto the Israeli Literary Festival.)
(And "Palestine Now" - substantially bigger than Time Out Jerusalem (or was it Israel - I remember events for Tel Aviv; Mette or Jutta, will you let me know?).)
We head up the hill, looking for coffee, and revelling in the bustling life, pretty buildings, souqs stacked with fruit and veg...we stop and look at George making pancakes; they're a food for Ramadan, but he, as a Christian, cooks them all year round and is therefore very popular with Muslims. We want to buy some, but he explains that they're for taking home and stuffing with nuts and honey and baking. At our crestfallen faces he takes some fresh ones and sprinkles them with sugar for us, refusing to take money.
We continue up, eventually stopping for water and coffee. We then walk down the hill, stopping to take photos of churches (there seem to be hundreds and hundreds), buy raq chickpeas (which we eat like peas in the pod), browse in the souq...we then try and find a restaurant to meet my friend Ben in. This involves lots of walking (despite the endless "just 10 minutes from here") and getting lost, and so we see a lot of the city: streets which remind us of Italy, streets which remind me of a richer Damascus, churches with posters for Christian martyrs...and all the time we do not see a single other westerner. We are given free bread when we ask the way, and then a lift when it happens again: "We want you to know that this is a good place to visit" says the man taking us. We have a coke at the restaurant while waiting for Ben, but a text comes to say he's down the street: the waiter refuses to take money just for drinks. We have so far been given pancakes, bread, a lift, and drinks, for free.
We track Ben down and have lunch, and pick his brains about the region: finally we have a chance to ask anything we like, and we take it. (Sorry Ben. Come back to England soon and I'll buy you a pint.) So we finally understand about the different dates for the "celebrations" of the founding of Israel (different calendars, and the "birthday" happening in the evening whereas Nakba, the "catastrophe" starting the next day); we learn about Christianity in Palestine (a not as great a proportion as in Syria, but it's up to 30% in Bethlehem): we even learn to hope for the area. Ben's lived and worked in Palestine, and is still optimistic...it was so wonderful to see him...
But he is busy, so we wend our way back to the Church of the Nativity. We have a brief stop to commiserate with the poor dying tree of peace (I tried to give it the kiss of life), and then have our only negative impression of Bethlehem. A man shows us the way to the Milk Grotto telling us that "it shuts in 10 minutes, we must go now, now" - we had an hour or more, but he took us via shops of his friends. "Very good prices for you, you know our children are starving, we have to feed our children" he tells us manically, again and again, and it gets horrible claustrophobic. I know that their tourist industry has died down somewhat, but that hassling that happens all over the world never goes down well with me. I gave money in the church, but I'm afraid we didn't give him anything to help feed his children.
The Milk Grotto, where Mary stopped to feed Jesus to keep him quiet on their flight, was naff: the Church of the Nativity was glorious. We get an equally hyperactive guide, but he was entertaining and fun and nice. He whipped us around the three churches (Catholic, Armenian Orthodox and Greek Orthodox), and took us down into St Jerome's little cave (WHY did he work in the dark anyway?) and then to the sight of pilgrimage itself: the stable. Or rather, cave. We tried to fix our childhood nativity scenes into the place but it really was tough, and our guide objected to my notion of an inn: "It's a church!" It made me laugh too much to explain: the idea that Mary and Joseph and the donkey stopped at a church and asked to stay in their stable. But anyway...we couldn't see the real manger, we were told, as the crusaders stole it and took it back to Italy, but we did see the exact spot Jesus was born, marked by a star, and we felt the circle in the centre of the star and made our wishes known to Jesus...
The Catholic part was newer and plainer (and there was a big tour group singing Away in a Manger! Brilliant): the small Armenian and the large Greek parts were fantastically bling. We asked if there were ever fights "Oh yes" the answer came breezily, "sometimes a lot". He claimed his pitiful fee and a tip and ran off.
We got a public service back to Ramallah in time for the dinner on the schedule, but of course the group were behind, and were at Yasir Arafat's tomb. (I managed to say in front of Palestinians, "oh, I don't care about Yasir Arafat." Oops. One told Camilla "Your friend really should be careful." Oh dear.) We sat in the hotel lobby with tea and computers. Dorothy and Carolynne (Irish) joined us and listened with jealousy to our stories...
The Wall
On the way to Bethlehem we see the security wall, which wasn't so fun. It's a deeply disturbing, sinister presence in the landscape, despite some great graffiti. Our driver told us the story of his friend's uncle's house: the wall has gone straight through it, meaning it's a 1.5 km. walk from the bedroom to the bathroom.
Monday 12 May 2008
Jericho
Another country, another 5-Star hotel. It's getting to me. I defect to the Danish team on arrival and this is the way it stays until the bitter end - to the relief of both sides I should think.
The programme is changed leaving us with an unexpected couple of hours. Tina (red-head not blond), Camilla and I jump on bikes and head into Jericho itself, realising too late that three women on bikes are not the same proposition as 170, and I suddenly feel vulnerable. But we push on until we find a tourist attraction, and impulsively (thank you Tina! Please send me photos!) hop on a cable car and get ourselves up the Mount of Temptation, where Jesus spent 40 days and nights, meeting and resisting the devil. We just stuck to mint tea and the amazing views of picture-book Holy Land and the Dead Sea until the sun went down. Magical.
The programme is changed leaving us with an unexpected couple of hours. Tina (red-head not blond), Camilla and I jump on bikes and head into Jericho itself, realising too late that three women on bikes are not the same proposition as 170, and I suddenly feel vulnerable. But we push on until we find a tourist attraction, and impulsively (thank you Tina! Please send me photos!) hop on a cable car and get ourselves up the Mount of Temptation, where Jesus spent 40 days and nights, meeting and resisting the devil. We just stuck to mint tea and the amazing views of picture-book Holy Land and the Dead Sea until the sun went down. Magical.
Man Following Women
Jawad, French Palestinian, has persuaded the film-maker Michko Netchak to Follow the Women. Michko was sold (weren't we all) by the ideals of the project, which Jawad had seen close up last year. They arrived and Michko found a rather different attitude. "He's here for the women. Today he promised we could go to a refugee camp, but look at him, we arrive at a hotel and he goes straight to the pool with the ladies".
He's a sleaze, it's true, and after yelling at him in Arabic he melts away, from me anyway.
What controls are there on the men who like to follow women?
He's a sleaze, it's true, and after yelling at him in Arabic he melts away, from me anyway.
What controls are there on the men who like to follow women?
The Promised Land
Another country, another border crossing...
There was a similar eruption of group joy as at the Syrian-Jordanian border, but this time it is after a few hours lying in the sun with ice-cream and water and pastries (bought from the one little kiosk giving atrocious exchange rates for our dollars and euros). The Turkish team have been held up for not having visas, despite having letters instead from the Israeli ambassador in Ankara saying they would have been granted a visa but needed their passports to be Israel-free to get to Lebanon and Syria. Conspiracy theories are rife, but it does seem as if this could be a legitimate reason to hold people up. The border guards seem young, and could just be following the rules rather than keeping back a pro-Palestinian peace group....but who knows...apparently there's something every year which means hours at the border.
In my version's favour: the behaviour of the guards when the Turks finally come through. We've formed a triumphal arch, singing and chanting peace messages (loudly), and they are taking photos and laughing at us. Even better, one girl (with a huge gun) is clapping along as well as smiling, and was she even chanting? It looked like it to some...
And more on my side. "These people aren't monsters" said one Turkish girl. "They were just doing their job".
There was a similar eruption of group joy as at the Syrian-Jordanian border, but this time it is after a few hours lying in the sun with ice-cream and water and pastries (bought from the one little kiosk giving atrocious exchange rates for our dollars and euros). The Turkish team have been held up for not having visas, despite having letters instead from the Israeli ambassador in Ankara saying they would have been granted a visa but needed their passports to be Israel-free to get to Lebanon and Syria. Conspiracy theories are rife, but it does seem as if this could be a legitimate reason to hold people up. The border guards seem young, and could just be following the rules rather than keeping back a pro-Palestinian peace group....but who knows...apparently there's something every year which means hours at the border.
In my version's favour: the behaviour of the guards when the Turks finally come through. We've formed a triumphal arch, singing and chanting peace messages (loudly), and they are taking photos and laughing at us. Even better, one girl (with a huge gun) is clapping along as well as smiling, and was she even chanting? It looked like it to some...
And more on my side. "These people aren't monsters" said one Turkish girl. "They were just doing their job".
Sunday 11 May 2008
Linda
Another homage to Catalonia: during a relaxing evening in a resort by the Dead Sea the Catalans arrange a viewing of a Channel 4 documentary about Linda, one of the Palestinians on Follow the Women. We watch on someone's laptop, and later move away from the music to ask Linda questions.
The documentary showed Linda's life in Bethlehem as her husband went in and out of prison, sometimes for years at a stretch; it took us through ups and downs of being a single mother and fighting to even see her husband, let alone the endless appeals for trials and waiting for answers and repeated knock-backs.
But here she is with us, able to fill us in with more details and even laugh at times. Linda is one of the more extreme Palestinians, vowing never to speak to an Israeli woman until there is peace; vowing never to speak Hebrew. She is an inspirational figure, not only because of the strength shown in the documentary, but her choices since her husband died. A trained nurse, she goes into schools and teaches sex education, a difficult and sometimes disapproved of job.
Palestine seems full of these very strong women, and I don't know what to think about the future for peace: the ability to carry on living and helping and building as much of a life as humanly possibly has to be weighed against the complete inflexibility of the mindsets. Is peace possible when people will not consider speaking to the people who have humiliated them? Maybe it is, but it won't be achieved with a bike ride which is only for communication.
The documentary showed Linda's life in Bethlehem as her husband went in and out of prison, sometimes for years at a stretch; it took us through ups and downs of being a single mother and fighting to even see her husband, let alone the endless appeals for trials and waiting for answers and repeated knock-backs.
But here she is with us, able to fill us in with more details and even laugh at times. Linda is one of the more extreme Palestinians, vowing never to speak to an Israeli woman until there is peace; vowing never to speak Hebrew. She is an inspirational figure, not only because of the strength shown in the documentary, but her choices since her husband died. A trained nurse, she goes into schools and teaches sex education, a difficult and sometimes disapproved of job.
Palestine seems full of these very strong women, and I don't know what to think about the future for peace: the ability to carry on living and helping and building as much of a life as humanly possibly has to be weighed against the complete inflexibility of the mindsets. Is peace possible when people will not consider speaking to the people who have humiliated them? Maybe it is, but it won't be achieved with a bike ride which is only for communication.
FtW gets some blog bashing
FtW has been picked up on Jewish blogging, as "Follow the useful idiots". They have put it perfectly:
It turns out a variety of people have actually tried to get Israeli women on board, contacting Women in Black and Women at Checkpoints among others, but with no joy. Detta puts it down to not finding anyone to take on the work, but a Dane suggests the problem may be with the determinedly anti-Israeli sentiment to be found everywhere attached to FtW. Pro-Palestinian is one thing; aggression puts peace-makers off.
Note that the group didn’t plan to show solidarity with the women of Israel. And also note that now that they are in Syria, things aren't so calm in Beirut anymore. And it’s their current host who’s fomenting the violence.With this in mind I'm surprised they've been so charitable to call us "useful".
It turns out a variety of people have actually tried to get Israeli women on board, contacting Women in Black and Women at Checkpoints among others, but with no joy. Detta puts it down to not finding anyone to take on the work, but a Dane suggests the problem may be with the determinedly anti-Israeli sentiment to be found everywhere attached to FtW. Pro-Palestinian is one thing; aggression puts peace-makers off.
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