After a week of sleep and writing, I'm getting some distance, as they say, on the whole trip. I wish that I'd behaved differently in some ways; I wish I hadn't got so angry in Syria, as it coloured what I thought and said and wrote for the following ten days. I really wish that Detta hadn't taken things personally. Criticism sounds personal, simply because Follow the Women is Detta: it was her idea, and she runs the show - all speeches on behalf of Follow the Women are from Detta. So pointing out what went wrong is pointing out how she went wrong, which is an unfortunate situation when people just want the possibility of change.
It's horrible putting down people who mean well. The sentiment of Follow the Women is good, and it stems - I think, though others have disagreed - from genuine care for people Detta has met. But the naivety of the whole set-up leads to scenarios that I cannot possibly be positive about, and more - this is where insidious guilt asserts itself - I feel the need to be negative: the region means too much for me to allow such scenarios to go uncriticised.
Much of what there is to say about the trip itself can be easily incorporated into FtW. More communication before and during the ride; clearer aims from the beginning; workshops for everyone's questions and input - all this would instantly improve the atmosphere. People would be united, instead of feeling unrepresented. Of course, there are much deeper structural problems. Clarifying the aims sounds easy, given that the aims are there on the website, but there was so much disagreement, including fundamentally contradictory reasons for being there, that in practice this is difficult. For example, Detta stands firm with Sahar when the latter declares Israeli women are not welcome. But Detta has worked hard to bring Israelis on board; she is proud of this and in my opinion rightly so. Some people are there for the women, others say that this is irrelevant. And so on. It is not impossible to sort this out: Detta has to make some decisions and stick to them. But there are another level of problems for me.
No-one seems to know exactly what we are trying to do. Peace for Palestine, Detta said on the last night I was with FtW, in a workshop in Palestine; that's what it started with, that's what it's all about. Many people didn't know that, but even if that is stated as the only aim, there is still the problem that no-one can agree on what peace for Palestine would look like. And no-one seems to be thinking about what we are doing for this mysterious peace.
Taking the message home, is a common theme. What message? That Palestinians have tough lives and wait at checkpoints? This has been just a few days of the two weeks. What is the truth of life in the other three countries that we have seen? We have seen little of the real life of the countries - this is impossible with 250 women in tow, so where will the truth be found?
A view expressed by many was that it felt like a tour group; we were touring four countries in a novel way, cheaply. We were staying in nice hotels, doing tourist things, and on top of that cycling. Few people raised sponsorship so we were not taking money into Palestine.
"Everyone should pledge to do three things" said Detta. "Whether that's trying to get Israeli's on board, or writing an article, or writing letters to your MP, or giving a talk at your work, college, local club: if everyone did just a few things the aims of Follow the Women would be realised." But what would people say? Steph's point that no-one else takes any responsibility was born out by a completely silent response to Detta's request for help. But as I heard later, people didn't feel able to volunteer for something so undefined, something unknown. What I really don't understand is how people have worked so hard for results so unexamined. I want to know what we've achieved.
I have an inkling of some negative achievements, as I've already written about. We have given free publicity to politically dubious regimes and parties and also tourist boards. We have given support in word if not in deed to anyone we have passed along the way, often giving a false sense of what the rest of the world thinks: this takes cross-cultural understanding the wrong way.
Perhaps all of this is irrelevant compared to the feeling of support we give to the Palestinians; also, the message that the Palestinians have a hard life is certainly worth taking home: as Detta put it, "The Palestinians are the ones without a voice". But I wish I'd known that it was all about Palestine before I went, and I can't help thinking that if it was only about Palestine, we should have spent more time in Palestine and less enjoying the hospitality of the region.
Showing posts with label Follow the Women. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Follow the Women. Show all posts
Sunday, 25 May 2008
Thursday, 15 May 2008
5 Star Hotels
"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...
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...
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.
Saturday, 10 May 2008
Teamwork
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.
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.
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.
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