I’ve just returned from Palestine and it’s taking me forever to write up this blog post. Why? Because I’m still struggling to comprehend the experience let alone articulate it into words. I’ve campaigned for Palestinian for many years, yet no amount of experience, literature or Palestinian friends could have prepared me for the harsh reality on the ground.

Over the coming weeks I will share my personal experiences from Palestine through a series of blogs taken from excerpts of my diary, with the aim of providing an honest and personal account of my journey through Palestine.

Rather than relay a day by day narrative I have grouped excerpts under broader headings such as The Apartheid Wall, Demonstrations, Hebron etc, so that you might be able to gage a more detailed understanding of the situation.

Beyond sharing my personal experience, I cannot overstate the importance of encouraging more people to visit Palestine and witnessing the situation for themselves. News, reports or the odd event, provide useful information but the reality on the ground is far worse; more people need to go out and witness first-hand the impact of Israel’s reign of terror on every aspect of Palestinian life – social, political and economic.

Please note, that the views reflected in this blog are purely my own and cannot be attributed to MPACUK.

Entering Palestine
Entering Palestine via Jordan we all prayed anxiously. It wasn’t fear of the Israeli’s per se but the prospect of being turned away, so close. We’d heard scare stories galore about how they’d kept people for almost 12 hours and denied them entry.

The ordeal lasted all of 5 and half hours. After the first round of inane questioning, we lingered in the waiting area for a few hours, iPod batteries dying, conversation drying out and a pokey little shop for sustenance.

A few more rounds of questioning followed, the tone progressively becoming harsher. Questions ranged from where you plan to go in ‘Israel’, how much money you’re carrying, do you know anyone in ‘Israel’, why you’ve travelled to every country who’s visa is stamped in your passport and who paid for you degree.

Most of the questioning is designed to intimidate and waste time, if you were deemed a serious threat, your feet wouldn’t touch the ground before they whisked you away. We waited and waited. At one point we were approached by a chirpy Israeli officer in plain clothes who reassured us we’d be out of there by closing time - adding he’d been to India and loved the culture; just to illustrate what a culturally aware and ‘nice guy’ he was. “See, there are some nice Israeli’s too” one of my friends remarked. Just a few hours later, as we were leaving I saw the same man, not looking so friendly as he rummaged through the suitcases of a couple of young girls. These two girls were travelling alone and were from Sweden but of Arab descent. They were around 17-18 years old, had been strip searched and were now having all their belongings swabbed and invaded by 3 Israeli officers. They were just kids, going to Palestine to do some volunteer work in the North of the West Bank.

We got our stamps shortly after 8pm but it seemed the girls would be there for a lot longer. As we headed out, I approached one of them to take her phone number and ask if there was anything we could do, or anyone we could call for them. I was brusquely shooed away by the same ‘nice guy’. We were all worried about the girls, but there was nothing we could do to help them, this was only the first experience of a sinking feeling of helplessness.

Arriving in Jerusalem

We arrived in Jerusalem at 10pm, entering the Old City through the famous Damascus Gate – surreal. We checked in and ran to the Al-Aqsa, to offer prayers before they locked the gates - just in time!

My romantic notions of Jerusalem however were short-lived. It’s not that I didn’t value the historical and religious significance of this magnificent city, but it is difficult to appreciate in light of current circumstances. Every street corner in the Old City is punctuated with Israeli guards and surveillance cameras at every 30 meters monitoring your every move. Even to enter the Al Aqsa for prayer, you face constant hassle from the security guards. I couldn’t always tell whether they were Muslim or not, not that it mattered, they’d hassle you anyway. Flicking slowly through your passport, asking you to recite a verse from the Qur’an (regardless of whether they themselves understood it), asking random and absurd questions, anything and everything to delay your prayer.

It was outside the Al Aqsa of all places that I lost count of the number of times I was threatened with arrest. Yes, I found it difficult to tolerate impudence form half-brain gun-toting adolescent’s who had barely broken their voice.

More saddening however, was the number of Palestinians that I met in other parts of the West Bank, who longed for the day they would be allowed to re-enter Jerusalem and offer their prayers at the holy sanctuary. For some it had been almost a decade.

I loved gazing over the old city walls from the Mount of Olives, sitting on the steps by Damascus Gate and imagining Salahdin’s army marching through, praying at the Al Aqsa and wandering through its vast grounds, but in spite of these wonderful experiences, I struggled to find peace of mind. How did the Palestinians do it?

They possess an inspiring spirit and strength of character that is humbling and overwhelming at the same time. I met many individuals that had been imprisoned or detained and brutally tortured by the Israeli’s, but continued to fight and continue with life’s daily routine. “We don’t have the luxury to sit around and feel sorry for ourselves” M told me, “...we have an occupation to fight”. M intrigued me, a political activist, trained psychologist and community worker; he had been detained and imprisoned many times. During one prolonged period of detention, his mother was brought in to exert emotional blackmail. They held her in a separate cell for over 24 hours, but when they brought her to him, she told him ‘if you are my son, you will not give in or tell them anything’. I couldn’t imagine what I would have done if I had been in either of their positions, would I have had such conviction or strength.

Since 1967, Israel has detained and imprisoned over 700,000 Palestinians, as part of its policy to destroy the resistance; I didn’t meet anyone who had not been affected in some way- either through their own imprisonment or that of a family member or friend.

“We don’t feel sorry for ourselves because you always know there is someone who has it far worse...”

As a qualified psychologist, M recognised the importance of post traumatic psycho –social care, but pointed out that such luxuries could only be afforded in semi-normal circumstances, ‘Palestine is far from normal’.

In a country where every family will have experienced a member being imprisoned or tortured, where individuals are held for years without trial or evidence, where young children are shot dead at close range by Israeli soldiers, where illegal walls cut through the lives and livelihoods of an entire people...there is nothing normal about such a place.

Its’ a place that shocks and numbs your senses simultaneously. There were times when I’d hear someone say: “They can’t do that” or “that’s not right, how could they get away with that”? The fact is, that they do. It is a place where logic and ethics are suspended.

Why two teenage girls travelling alone would be strip searched and undergo hours of frightening interrogation makes no sense. Sharing a bus with Israeli teenagers listening to their iPods and text messaging, with M16’s hanging from their pubescent bodies is not normal. Palestinians being marched off buses to go through checkpoints, while tourists remain seated is not normal. Crazy settler kids as young as 10 carrying weapons in places like Hebron...none of it is normal.

A friend of mine returned from Palestine a few days ago and was startled by the sight of a passerby with a black umbrella - because he mistook it for an M16.

A Palestinian student, studying in the US, shocked her roommate at college when she told her that the sound of ambulance sirens reminded her of home.

A friend of mine had to walk for three hours through the mountains, to make it for a TV interview, because the Israeli’s had shut down a checkpoint.

None of these situations is normal, but it’s what the Palestinians have to put up with on a daily basis.

While my natural reaction at witnessing the atrocities in Palestine may have been anger or sadness, witnessing the strength and resilience of ordinary Palestinians was an invaluable lesson in transforming emotions and negative sentiments into something more positive and constructive. It’s not our sympathy that the Palestinians need, its direct strategic action.

To be continued... Part 2 coming soon, inshAllah.

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