It's hard to believe it's been a decade since I traveled to the West Bank and Gaza during Israel's 2002 invasion (dubbed "Operation Defensive Shield" in proper Orwellian style), but the calendar is adamant on that point. After I returned I wrote an account of my experiences there, and though an edited excerpt was published in the book Searching Jenin I've never published the essay in its entirety—despite my own good intentions and some requests from readers here. So ten years on, here it is, along with photos I and others took. It was written for a general audience so you may already be familiar with some of the background information, and in some cases events have overtaken the narrative, but I'm presenting it just as I wrote it at the time. Also, since each installment is fairly long and contains quite a few images I've broken them up so they won't appear in their entirety on the front page; just click the "Continue reading..." link at the bottom of each post to see the rest.
Without further ado, here's part 1, and when I've finished publishing the other parts I'll update this posting with links to them as well.
(As promised....)
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Taking Reponsibility: In the West Bank and Gaza
At the end of March 2002, the Israeli army launched a massive assault on the West Bank. Yasser Arafat's compound was put under siege and much of it was reduced to rubble. The Israel Defense Forces, or IDF—the misnomer by which the Israeli army is known—were systematically attacking city after city, refugee camp after refugee camp, throughout the Occupied Territories. The professed purpose was to stop terrorism, but reports coming from the Territories told of the wanton destruction of civilian infrastructure, the targeting of ambulances, the bulldozing of houses, the killing and wounding of civilians, the cold-blooded executions of Palestinian policemen.
I followed these horrifying events in the news with a rising sense of frustration, outrage and helplessness. This was an attack by one of the most powerful armies in the world against an almost completely defenseless civilian population. And how had Israel come to have such a powerful military? As an American citizen who follows foreign policy closely, I knew all too well: because of the infusion of $3 billion in military and economic aid each year from the United States, along with billions more in loan forgiveness, military support through the Pentagon budget, loan guarantees, and other financial incentives. The total amount of aid the US has given to Israel over the years is staggering—well over $90 billion, the bulk of which has been direct military aid. This is money provided directly by US taxpayers to the state of Israel, and it is used by Israel to finance its ongoing occupation of the West Bank and Gaza. It was my money being used to destroy these cities and towns and terrorize these people, and I watched and read about what was happening with that fact always foremost in my thoughts.
The breaking point for me came when I saw the Israelis begin their assault on the Jenin refugee camp. Here was a group of 14,000 people who were already victims—refugees—under assault by the most advanced weaponry US money could buy. I felt sickened as I watched the images of a US-supplied Apache helicopter hovering over the camp, launching Hellfire missiles down into the crowded streets and strafing houses and cars with cannon fire, and read the accounts of bulldozers laying waste to the center of the camp, in some cases burying people alive beneath the rubble of their destroyed homes. The Israelis had closed Jenin to "outsiders" so that they could carry out their violence without any witnesses; they had gone so far as to bar the Red Cross and other humanitarian organizations from entering the camp to help the people inside.
But one group had managed to place people inside the camp, to document the atrocities and report back to the outside world: the International Solidarity Movement (ISM), a loose coalition of people dedicated to assisting the Palestinians in resisting the Israeli occupation. I heard the reports from ISM volunteers around the world who had picked up and left their homes to follow their consciences and put their bodies on the line in a struggle that was not their own. I watched as ISM volunteers marched into Arafat's compound, in between tanks and APCs (armored personnel carriers), with bullets flying over their heads, to act as human shields in order to protect the hundreds of Palestinians trapped inside. I was amazed at their bravery and inspired by their example. I realized then that I could do something to help, simply by going to the West Bank to witness, to document, and if necessary to put myself between the Israeli tanks and the Palestinian civilians. It was a difficult decision to make, but in the end the images coming out of the West Bank were too horrific for me to choose otherwise. I arrived in Israel on April 19th and began one of the most important experiences of my life.
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My first stop was East Jerusalem, the gathering point for ISM volunteers (or just "internationals"). We were waiting for training before going out "into the field", and so we stayed in and around Jerusalem itself for the day. I went out to see the town with a group of new friends, expecting a relatively quiet day since Jerusalem itself was not part of the invasion; but I quickly learned that even in this seemingly calm place, the effects of the occupation were quite visible.
As I was walking back to the hotel with my friends, we saw a police van with blue lights flashing and Israeli flags flying. Four police (men and women) were standing at points around the van with their automatic weapons raised and aimed at a nicely dressed Palestinian man who looked to be in his 30's. I immediately took out my camera to get a picture, in case the worst happened and this man ended up like many others who've been similarly detained by the Israelis. My friends and I took up a position where we could witness what was happening. The police were shouting commands at the man, and he was holding his jacket open, apparently to let them see if he was wearing a bomb vest. He put his briefcase down on the sidewalk and began emptying some of the contents from it, moving slowly and deliberately. I watched the gun barrels—they appeared to be aimed directly at his head. I imagined, with a twist in my stomach, what would happen if he made any move that startled them. The tension in the air was palpable.