BETHLEHEM – Today, I traveled to Jerusalem proper and then to East Jerusalem, where I will be staying for a couple of days while traveling back and forth to Ramallah. I started out by taking a taxi from Bethlehem to Beit Jala, where I waited on the side of the road for a white bus to pass by. These white buses are used primarily by Arabs that have papers or permission to enter Israel and are an important means of transportation for Palestinians. I usually don't pay much attention to what "colors" I am wearing when I get up in the morning, especially since this is not East L.A., but this morning I happened to wear a baby blue and white shirt – the colors of the Israeli flag. How much more "patriotic" could I get in a Palestinian area?! I would not have noticed my shirt if it was not for a Palestinian teenager with cuts on his face who started speaking Hebrew with me on the bus, and though I do not know Hebrew, I could tell that his words were not favorable. Because most people usually assume that I am Palestinian, I am guessing that my flagrantly "Israeli" shirt did not sit well with him. Later that day, I went to Ramallah and did not have any further problems with "the shirt."
To get to Ramallah, I had to go first to East Jerusalem, a primarily Arab and highly disputed section of the city, and from East Jerusalem travel to the Qalendia checkpoint to get to Ramallah. The checkpoint is utterly chaotic. Taxis are honking their horns, people are trying to sell things, cars are pointed in every direction, and it was dreadfully hot. I walked through and got in a taxi/van with eight other people. The man I sat next to was a Palestinian from one of the neighboring villages. I would guess that he was in his sixties, and he wore a thinly-shaved grey moustache and had dark wrinkled skin. He asked me where I was from, and I said San Francisco. He replied, "Oh, you are American?" and I confirmed his statement. He then said, "Americans are unjust and Bush has murderous policies," before commenting on Iraq. I cleared my throat nervously as I thought of an appropriate response before reminding him that although there are many bad things happening in the world, not all Americans are in support of these actions. Assuming that I was American and Palestinian, he asked me if I had family in Palestine, and I said that I did. He seemed pleased and then offered me his cell phone so that I could call the people I was meeting. I thanked him and left the van in Ramallah.
Ramallah is a very vibrant, seemingly more "modern" city (whatever that means) with many high-rises and a more organized physical appearance than Bethlehem. Ramallah reflects the spatial organization of power, as most headquarters for government agencies are based there, and many prominent officials live comfortable lives in pleasant "suburban" neighborhoods characterized by large houses and surprisingly peaceful surroundings. In Ramallah, the streets are clean; there is little graffiti on the walls, and many of the buildings are much more complex than those in neighboring cities. The people walking in the streets appear to be more inclined to American and European styles and, overall, there is more freedom with regard to open relationships among young people. Couples do not usually walk down the street holding hands, but they sit in cafés and socialize instead. One girl described the huge difference between the social life out on the streets and the life inside the shops, where some may change into more fashionable clothes just to sit inside a restaurant.
In Ramallah, I tried to arrange a meeting with some health care professionals, but did not have success this time. I will try again in the coming days. Afterwards, I met some friends in the city and basically sat in several different places. The first was a small café where I had some sour lemonade before exchanging it for another overly sweet smoothie-type drink. Most of the people in the café were young and seemed to be attracted to the private atmosphere and air conditioning. Then, I sat in an informal restaurant and talked with some other friends and had a hamburger. It was interesting to note that most of the people I met during my time in Ramallah were transnational citizens. They are Palestinians from Ramallah, but carry American passports and currently or in the past have studied in America. The others who did not carry an American passport had either traveled extensively in the United States or had studied there on a student visa. In Bethlehem, on the other hand, many of the students have traveled to Italy, Greece, Russia or other European countries to study. But I think that everyone reading this should be very happy and proud to know that UC Berkeley has a very good reputation here in Ramallah and is the "dream school" of many students I have spoken with. So, keep up the good work!
As I was walking around later that night, I ran into a girl who had volunteered to help with the Micro-Clinic Project. She is currently acting as a youth volunteer for her micro-clinic, along with her mother, who is a nurse. I was delighted as she explained how she and her mother had started testing those participating in their micro-clinic and that she had even taught her brother how to use the machine. She went on to say that, recently, she had been testing other family members and neighbors and had found that her brother-in-law in his 30s had a very high reading, indicating that he may be a diabetic. I encouraged her to have him visit a doctor to go through the necessary tests and reminded her to share with him the dietary recommendations made during the project. This incident got me thinking about how these micro-clinics not only serve their participants, but because of the culture in which friends and families socialize regularly, they have also become neighborhood outreach centers. Many of the micro-clinic participants have told their neighbors about their new machines, and their neighbors have then asked to be tested or to watch how they work.
In the late afternoon, I saw a group of Palestinian policemen being trained in the streets. They were wearing blue camouflage uniforms and were being led by a drill sergeant. There were about 30 of them walking through the streets of Ramallah, and they really looked quite professional compared to some police in other areas, who wear worn-out uniforms. Clearly, looking at the police, the built environment and the social life, Ramallah is a wealthier city than Bethlehem, and some of the people carry a slightly elitist pride in being from a more "sophisticated" society than some of the neighboring cities.
Later that evening, I went back to Qalendia checkpoint and crossed it. On the Ramallah side, a huge line of cars was waiting to cross and impatiently inching along, as each car was searched and the passengers questioned. On the other side, I made a mistake by telling the taxi driver that I wanted to go to Shaherizad, a place to buy sweets, not knowing that there are a thousand places named Shaherizad. I ended up traveling back into Jerusalem before a kind man with two young boys finally directed me to the correct place.
I stayed in East Jerusalem for a few days, where I visited with some friends. Down the street from where I was staying, the Wall was being constructed in a way that would greatly affect real estate values in the area. Its continued construction and the maintained ambiguity of its path has created great anxiety in the area. Most of the people in this neighborhood are Palestinians who carry an Israeli ID and are therefore permitted to live in Israel and buy homes in certain areas. Thus, many of the residents bought small apartments in this neighborhood before the construction of the Wall – when the area in which they were living would fall inside Israeli control. If the Wall cuts through this neighborhood, the residents' homes could fall from $180,000 to $80,000 overnight with a single court decision directing the Wall a few blocks in either direction. If their homes were suddenly to become West Bank homes, they would lose a significant investment in their homes, as well as Israeli ID cards, health care and the ability to go to work, to name a few serious problems. Some Palestinians that I have spoken with tell me that by moving Palestinians outside of the Wall, they are reducing the Palestinian population in East Jerusalem and perhaps undermining any future Palestinian aspirations for control of East Jerusalem.
When I first heard the story, it took me awhile to understand what was going on. Were these Palestinians fighting to have the Wall include their land as a part of Israel as it separates the West Bank from Israeli-controlled territories? Yes, I had heard correctly. They explained how the lack of stability in terms of land occupation/annexation has made it difficult for them as working families to invest in any sort of future – financially or socially – and because they had made the investment to buy apartments in an area that was supposed to be included inside East Jerusalem, they paid a much higher price than if they had bought homes in the West Bank.
I then went to Jerusalem to pick up some friends of the family I was staying with, but getting there was a bit tricky. I went with the family and, because of their Palestinian status, they walked across the checkpoint, and I drove their car into the "express lane," open exclusively to foreigners. If I went through the Palestinian line with the car, I would have to wait 1.5 hours. When I got to the checkpoint, I smiled at the soldier and handed him my American passport. He was a serious guy in his 20s, wearing mirrored sunglasses, a gun and a "mug" that he must have practiced in the mirror for hours. He first spoke to me in Hebrew, and I responded that I do not speak Hebrew. He then asked me in a Hebrew-Arabic accent, "Inta Arabi?" (Are you Arab?) I did not want to respond in Arabic, otherwise I would be sent to the back of the Palestinian line, despite the fact that my whole life I have only held an American passport. I replied, "I am an American," and I pointed to the passport and asked him to speak in English. He went on to ask me again if I was Arab, and I kept telling him I am American and speak English. Then he started calling me a liar in Arabic, telling me that I am an Arab and ordering me to go to the back of the Palestinian line.
At this point I was pretty upset, and the United Nations car behind me was honking impatiently. I was not going to move until he spoke with me in English, and I know that he spoke English because he unconsciously responded to what I said in English by answering in Arabic! Finally, the soldier, unwilling to speak with me in English, with me unwilling to move, told the Arab UN worker behind me to translate. After exchanging some sharp words with the soldier and explaining the negative effects of such behavior on the Israeli tourist industry via the UN worker, I turned the car around, picked up my passport, picked up my friends who had successfully crossed, and went through another checkpoint about 15 minutes away with no trouble.
Later that day, I wanted to go shopping inside Israel, so I tried to pass through the same "express lane" that I was stopped at in the morning, this time determined not to get turned down. They change the soldiers frequently, and at this time of the day, there was a new group. I drove up to the checkpoint and handed my passport to the soldier, greeting him with "shalom." This soldier wore a very unintimidating expression; he did not look like he was enjoying his job and would much rather be doing something else. Before he asked me any questions, I asked him in English how to get to the mall in Israel, and he responded that he did not know but would ask someone. I told him that I would manage, and he said "be'sader" (go ahead). I guess in situations such as these, the difference between an hour and a minute all depends on the mood of a soldier.
—Daniel