Maureen Clare MurphyRamallah, West Bank11 November 2004
Today Ramallah awoke to the news of Palestinian President Yasser Arafat’s death, and while the world had been anticipating this day during the nearly two weeks Arafat was hospitalized in France, confirmation of the Palestinian symbol’s passing was no less jarring in Palestine’s cultural capital. Palestinians poured into Ramallah’s Manara Square city center, and spontaneous demonstrations have been and will be taking place. While not many in the streets are crying (emotions will probably run higher tomorrow when Arafat’s burial takes place), people are coming together during this time of mourning and uncertainty. Read more about Photostory: Ramallah reacts to news of Arafat's death
The Palestinian struggle for freedom and independence is larger than the late President Yasir Arafat. The decades-long symbolism that Arafat embodied should not be underestimated. It is this symbolism that Palestinians are mourning. Despite the confusion of the hour, one fact remains clear. The Palestinian people, collectively, whether in the Occupied Territories, scattered in squalid refugee camps around the Middle East, or living in exile, will never wake up one day and accept the historic injustice that has been done to them. Read more about Palestine Greater Than Arafat
Catching a taxi to my apartment near Arafat’s compound in Ramallah the other night, the Palestinian driver’s immediate question concerned my nationality. “Germany?” he asked. No. “France?” No. “Switzerland?” No. “Italy?” No … Before he covered the rest of Europe, I somewhat sheepishly admitted, “America.” He cut to the chase: “Do you support Bush?” With an almost desperate note of pain in his voice, different from that of the jaded drivers I usually have, he asked me about occupied Palestine, about occupied Iraq. “Why does your country do this to us?” he asked me. “Are we bad?” “Am I no good?” Read more about A letter from Palestine to my fellow Americans
Maureen Clare MurphyRamallah, West Bank5 November 2004
While the BBC and CNN have been treating the failing health and rumored death of Palestinian President Yasser Arafat as the world’s top story for the past two days, it is business as usual here in Ramallah. Though journalists swarmed the PA headquarters where Arafat has been holed up for the past three years (known in Palestine as the Maqata’a) last night and presumably this morning, news of Arafat’s impending death did not stop the Friday markets from bustling this morning — another Friday during Ramadan. Today I casually asked a Palestinian man I had been talking to in a shop what he thinks will happen in Ramallah once Arafat dies. “Nothing,” he said. Read more about Just another Ramadan Friday in Ramallah
Many of the Muslims in Ramallah are secular; combine this with a load of young western liberals, and you get the Las Vegas of Palestine. Birzeit University is located just north of the city, and it is quite the college atmosphere. Bir Zeit in Arabic means “Wells of Olive Oil”, but in German it means “Beer Time”, and this is a more fitting description. Restaurants and bars line the streets, and young internationals and Palestinians wander around raising hell. It is here where the idea of throwing paint bombs at Israeli soldiers arose. Now one can frequently see Israeli jeeps driving by covered in bright pink paint, and no guard tower has escaped colorization by mischievous shebab (youth). Read more about Hills of God
When Loai’s and Ubai’s mother was born in 1948, her father, Saleem Abu Khaled al Tamimi of Hebron, was in prison for his part in resisting the British plan to partition Palestine. The boys never got to know their grandfather, because he died of a stroke in Ramallah during an altercation with Israeli guards when their mother, a student at Birzeit University then (1969), was being tried because of her activities in the Palestine Liberation Front. She was sentenced to four years in prison and spent a good part of her sentence in Ramleh prison, where her son, Loai (26), is currently being held. Ubay (19) is in Jalboun prison in the north, one of the harshest in the Israeli system. Read more about Prisoner Stories: Loai and Ubai Mohammad Odeh
Rami Fadayel’s parents, Rizik and Muna, and his aunt Samia attended Rami’s commencement exercises in 2002 at Birzeit University, where he received a degree in accounting. They wanted to hear his name being called out. Rami himself could not be at the commencement. He was wanted by the Israeli forces and did not risk passing through the check point at Surda to get to Birzeit. Rami, who is now 24 years old, was likewise absent from his own engagement party, which his family held for him on April 4, 2004, on the Day of the Palestinian Prisoner. Arrested on January 11, 2003, he was in Ofar prison in Ramallah serving a sentence of 42 months. Read more about Prisoner Stories: Rami Rizik Fadayel
In telling the story of his son’s imprisonment, Mohammad Samarah reflects on an irony that seems to him sad and inspirational at the same time. His youngest son, Mu’aath (27), is being held at an Israeli prison called Jalbou’. It’s a new prison north of Jenin in the Jalboun hills built to replace an older prison by the same name that was located in the Palestinian village of Shatta. The irony, Mohammad Samarah explains, lies in the fact that his family comes from a village in Jalboun called Noores. The Israelis have wiped out this Palestinian village, but overlooking its ruins, there is now an Israeli “settlement” tauntingly echoing what used to be by calling itself Nooret. Read more about Prisoner Stories: Mua'ath Mohammad Samarah
During the last week of our stay, we decided to visit Tel Aviv. It was Easter Monday, and many Christians from all over Palestine were gathering to celebrate that holiday in the Arab city of Yafa, now mostly depopulated and surrounded by Tel Aviv. We decided to go with a group of our friends from Ramallah, all of whom, being Christian, were able to obtain the special Easter permits to travel to Israel. This week, EI publishes daily installments of a six-part diary from March/April 2004, by Dr. Saber Zaitoun, the pseudonym of a Palestinian-American in his thirties. Dr. Zaitoun grew up under Israeli occupation and first came to the USA during the first Intifada to finish his education. He is married, and currently teaches at a University on the East Coast. Read more about A Stranger in My Own Land: An excursion to Tel Aviv (6 of 6)
Having seen the latest developments first-hand on this trip, it dawned on me that what’s going on over there is a full-blown genocide. A genocide in slow motion, perhaps, but a genocide nevertheless. This week, EI publishes daily installments of a six-part diary from March/April 2004, by Dr. Saber Zaitoun, the pseudonym of a Palestinian-American in his thirties. Dr. Zaitoun grew up under Israeli occupation and first came to the USA during the first Intifada to finish his education. He is married, and currently teaches at a University on the East Coast. Read more about A Stranger in My Own Land: Changing the Map (5 of 6)