Of Classism and Getting Boxes

So a few weeks ago, Talia asked me to help her pack up her books to go home after the really long time she's been in Jordan. As buying Arabic texts is considerably cheaper here than in the States, and as she'll use them for her own research and career, she had a ton to pack. Therefore before showing up I went to Mukhtar Mall near her house and went on a sturdy cardboard box hunt.

In Mukhtar Mall I managed to gather two or three boxes after going to five or six stores, before being told that to really get boxes i should go down to the parking lot level. I went down on the elevator, and behold, there was an entire dumping site for empty cardboard boxes that some men were busy flattening and organizing for disposal; it was really a cardboard box mountain that these guys were just slowly chipping away at. Boxes galore!

There was a security guard, and so i told him that i was there to get boxes and was that alright, and then proceeded to ask the box guys to hand me appropriate sized boxes over the metal fence surrounding the box mountain. I think i asked for three. "Three?" they said, "You can have twenty!" I pointed out the size that i thought would be good for boxes, and they very obligingly handed me several of them.

At this point, mission accomplished (or so i thought), i took out my cell phone to call Talia to let her know i was coming and make sure she was at home to let me in. Before I can get a hold of her, the security guard has come over to me and said, "What else do you want? Are you done? Do you have a car?"

"No," i said, "i don't have a car. I'm calling my friend."
"So you don't need anything else. Khalas. Go. Go away." He waved his hand at me as if swatting at a fly.

I wasn't aware enough to be offended. My mind was on getting to Talia's. So i picked up my boxes and walked toward the elevators. I found the rude guard in my way.

"No, you can't go up the elevators. Go out that way. Go." He pointed toward the back entrance, where he wanted me to leave.

I still wasn't quick enough to realize how rude he was being. I was confused. No, I needed the elevators to get to the level where i can go to the street to get a taxi. I wasn't about to walking around the parking garage to find the exit and then walk all the way around the building.

Then he changed his tune:
"Here, you need to wait here. Here, sit down." He offered me a chair since I am a woman and he was now deciding to make me wait. Into his radio, he said, "There's a girl here taking boxes. Do you want to come check her out?"

At this point I just stood up and made for the elevators. This was ridiculous. He stood in my way and told me I had to wait. Everything up to this point had been in Arabic. I decided to bust out the English. "I don't understand what the matter is," I said purposefuly and kind of angrily in a low voice." I am getting boxes for my friend to help her move, and I am going to go up the elevator." I walked calmly to the elevator in front of three or four other laborer guys who were just watching silently. I pushed the button, waited, and then took it up and left. The security guard said nothing else.

Believe me I got to Talia's fuming mad and had half a mind to call my old host dad and ask him to go with me back to the mall to get that guard in trouble. Or Mehdi. Or my arabic teacher. It's incredibly, incredibly rude that someone would wave their hand at me, send me out the back entrance, then decided to call his boss to come find out what i'm doing. GETTING EMPTY BOXES, you bored piece of shit. No one deserves to be treated like that. And when you're trying to go out of your way to help out your friend? And when you're a paying customer of the mall?

Besides the rudeness, it's what made him stop being rude that is telling of the way things work here. The moment I opened my mouth and yelled at him (I didn't even yell, actually, just spoke angrily in a low voice) in English, he had nothing else to say. It was when he thought I was either Arab, or maybe Russian or something that he was so rude to me. I think he thought I was Arab, I didn't say enough or make long enough sentences to give myself away to him. So he thinks no respectable Arab woman would go down the parking lot to dig through empty boxes by herself? Oh, I forgot, any respectable Arab woman would surely have her husband/brother/doorman/father/maid go and dig around for boxes. Anyone who does it themselves you have full authority to treat them like shit and tell them to go out the back entrance and detain them for using the elevator with boxes. Surely if they are getting their own boxes that means they have no status in life.

Then ENGLISH! Oh well holy shit, ENGLISH changes everything! I thought you were a completely unrespectable woman with no status who i could use to prove what a responsible guard i am by harrassing as you scrounge for leftover cardboard. ENGLISH changes EVERYTHING! I can't place you now! I'm not sure anymore where to put you in this hierarchy we've got going in our country, but it sure is higher than where I originally thought. I'd better hold my tongue and let you do as you wish. You want to go up the elevator like normal respectable customers? Well go right ahead. I don't know what i was thinking.

I should have gone right upstairs and asked to talk to the director of security. I wasn't gutsy enough or present-minded enough. Oh well. Maybe i'm a bigger person for walking away. But no one should be allowed to treat people like that!

The reason I'm posting this encounter, other than because it made me angry, is because I believe it is telling about classism in Jordan in general. Security in most institutions is rather arbitrary. As a woman, especially as a white woman, I get waved into many hotels without being properly checked for weapons. At the border, bureaucratic issues that the Jordanian soldiers get hung up on or question can often (well, the small ones, like Kamleh's transfered stamp) be taken care of by explaining to them assertively that everything is in order even if it's not readily apparent, and how. The same is true with police. I was once told that if I ever get into any trouble and the police are involved, do not, no matter how good i am at Arabic, try to show off my language with them; speak strictly English with law enforcement authority figures if i want to make things easier for myself. And it is true. I make things very easy for myself in this country by understanding a good deal of Arabic, but by speaking English when I need anything from authority. It is very arbitrarily easy for me to deal with police and security. I suspect, and the story above gives evidence to this, that things are just as arbitrarily difficult for people who are not in my shoes.

I suppose this post is really an extension of Kamleh's Dirty American tales, with a nod to the extremely annoying classism of Jordanian society. Part classism, part hospitality, and part colonial legacy means English gets me out of all kinds of trouble that bored security guards would otherwise impose.

And I won't elaborate here too much on this last point, but I would just like to point out that this is one major reason i find Palestine so refreshing: the classism junk that gets in the way of talking to nearly everyone in Jordan, I find to have disappeared in Palestine. It's so much easier to have real, honest, unpresumptuous conversations. And mostly, I think, because they live in a situation where everyone has to deal with the occupation. It doesn't matter whether you are the garbage man or the Minister of Information for the PA, the Israelis will stop you both at the checkpoint all day, and control whether you receive a permit to go into this or that area. Therefore, the minister greets the garbage man with respect, and the garbage man feels like he has something to say to the minister and expects him to listen.

Anyway, moral of the story is that respectable women DO go into parking garages to collect empty boxes sometimes. And they should be treated with respect, whether or not you think they have enough money to have a doorman do it for them.

In case you were wondering...

جنان حصلت قلبي
فما ان فيه من باقي
لها الثلثان من قلبي
و ثلثا ثلثه الباقي
و ثلثا الثلث ما يبقى
و ثلثا الثلث للساقي
فيبقى اسهم ست
توزع بين عشاقي

The garden has my heart
So that whatever is in it
Has two thirds of my heart
And two thirds of the remaining third
And two thirds of the third that remain
And two thirds of that third are for the gardener
Leaving six shares
To be divided between my lovers.


26/27 of my heart are for the garden.
2/81 of my heart are for the gardener.
1/486 of my heart are for each lover.

Bil'in, and how the dirty american does not always get you so far

Hello,

I want to write you all an email that would express to you all what I've experienced in the past week at a conference I went to, and also help me formulate some of it so I can create an article for the paper at home, but I am not sure where to begin. My hand and arm are scratched up a bit, and my quads are killing me. I should have known to be in better shape before going to a demo in Palestine. I got scratched up (and also lost a shoe) while running from rubber-coated bullets in Bil'in. I read later that they were also firing machine guns into the air. I can't recognize the difference in the percussions, I didn't grow up hearing them; all i remember is that when the guy from Jenin says, "Oh my God, they are shooting us," you run.

Kamleh and I had gone to Bil'in to attend the Second Annual Conference on Popular Resistance, April 18-20th. The conference speakers included the likes of Italian and French Members of Parliament, the French Ambassador to Israel who is a concentration camp survivor and who took part in writing the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948, Mustafa Barghouti (PA Information Minister), Amira Hass (Haaretz journalist), Ilan Pappe (University of Haifa professor and self-proclaimed failed product of the Israeli education system), and Jeff Halper (Israeli Committee Aganst House Demolitions). The speeches were focused around the Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions campaign against Israeli Apartheid that has now been called for by Palestinian Civil Society. Amira Hass mentioned that whenever she writes in the paper about someone getting denied a permit to go to their father's funeral, or to go get medical treatment in Amman or Israel, the next day all of the "security" issues have magically disappeared, and that one person gets their permit. Israelis don't want to know what is going on around them. And when they DO protest inside Israel, nothing happens. They have the right to do so, and so they do, and then they go home and meanwhile Palestinians are harrassed at checkpoints and separated from each other, and more land is confiscated, and occupation, the catchword to describe so much more than a literal occupation, expands and deepens. As one Palestinian woman who spoke up at the conference said, "We need you to stand in front of your soldiers." There are groups that do this, such as Mahsoum Watch (Checkpoint Watch), Israeli women who go and sit at checkpoints to observe and record and ameliorate by their presence the behavior of the Israeli soldiers. There was also some good discussion about the word "Apartheid." Jeff Halper made the point that even though what is happening in Palestine is in many ways actually more insidious than Apartheid South Africa, even though the equivalent word for 'separation' in Hebrew is actually a very accepted word and part of the popular peace movement's campaign, and even though there is a better word in Hebrew meaning 'displacement/dispossession' that describes much better what is going on, Apartheid is the best word to use. It gets across the separation and domination that are integral parts of the word, and there is simply not time to coin a new vocabulary while the displacement and dispossession is ongoing.

Bil'in itself is a village to the northwest of Ramallah, that has become something of a symbol of Palestinian resistance to the Apartheid wall. The wall is built through Bil'in's agricultural land, from which the village makes its living, confiscating the majority of the land on the western Israeli side of the wall. The wall in this area is actually about 30 meters of fence, ditch, road, electric fence, road, ditch, and fence. Orchards on the other side belonging to the village have been bulldozed and Israeli colonies built on the land, the most recent colony, Matityahu East, erected in 2002. The work on the Apartheid barrier here actually began in February of 2005, and popular demonstrations including children, elderly people, internationals, and women occured daily in the beginning. The village has continued since that time to hold two non-violent demonstrations a week, one of them every Friday. The forms the demonstrations take are creative, and often include group prayer in the road on holidays, women on Women's Day, and handicapped on the Day of the Handicapped. These non-violent demonstrations have been met with semi-automatic rifles, sound bombs, tear gas, rubber-coated metal bullets, high-pressure water hoses, and live ammunition, not to mention the soldiers' invasions of homes in the middle of the night to beat and arrest children and youths out of their beds because they took part in the demonstrations, and shooting 10 and 12 year olds in the head. There has also been some other direct action, such as a family moving into one of the houses that was built in the colony, showing the legal deed to the land, but being evicted after five hours, and also legal action in Israeli courts. The demonstrations continue, and the example of Bil'in's non-violent regular and multi-faceted resistance is beginning to be imitated in other parts of Palestine, most notably in Beit Sahour near Bethlehem. (http://www.bilin-village.org/)

The demonstration on Friday, April 20th followed in the tradition of Bil'in's regular display of resistance. The demo was part of the conference, and was attended by internationals, the PA Information Minister and also the Vice Prime Minister and other officials, Israelis, and Palestinians from Bil'in. I was disappointed that many of the Europeans and Israelis who had spoken the previous two days did not stay for the demo. Mairead Maguire did stay, however. She is a 1977 Nobel Peace Price winner for her work in Northern Ireland and while she kind of annoyed me because she was preaching quite a bit during the conference about how they succeeded in Northern Ireland in connecting with people through loving one another, and preaching interpretations of violence in islam and otherwise reminded me of really happy church ladies, she was hardcore enough to stay for the demo. She later got shot in the leg by a rubber-coated bullet. (http://www.imemc.org/article/47925)

There was a press conference near the wall in the morning, and while the Israeli soldiers were busy surrounding the press conference, an international kid somehow in an act of some kind of incredible bravery or stupidity, took a giant Palestinian flag, crossed the 30 meters of Apartheid wall/fence/road, climbed the Israeli communications tower, and put the flag waaaaaaaay at the top of it. At the end of the day we saw him still sitting up there and a bunch of soldiers hanging out at the bottom of the tower waiting for him to come down. I think he took food and water up there with him. It was actually some kind of awesome. ( http://www.imemc.org/article/47937)

We marched all together from the village to the wall, internationals at the front. When we got somewhat close, maybe 20 yards, and the soldiers were pointing their guns at us, we all raised our hands high into the air and just stood there. Mohammed, Kamleh and I were staying all together. I was not allowed to lose Kamleh, and Mohammed would not lose us. So somehow the Jenini ended up squatting in front of me after stopping a few yards back saying, "They will shoot me!" I yelled at him under my breath for coming so far and went a few more steps with Kamleh. Two foreign women in their 60s were standing in front of me. We were all just standing with our hands up. Then suddenly the soldiers started firing, and the women in front of me were hit with something. I started shouting for Mohammed, thinking he's the one who has medical training what the hell am i gonna do if this woman is shot? I looked at her stomach and it was just a bit pink. A rubber-coated bullet had bounced off the water bottle of one of the women and hit the other in the stomach. Then, they started firing more and Mohammed said "Oh my God, they are shooting us." (This was apparently when they started shooting machine guns into the air.) There was also tear gas but I didn't see it. So, we ran. I made friends with a rock, and then made friends with the guy from Bil'in who was making friends with the same rock. He gave me some onion for the tear gas. They continued firing, and there was an even bigger sound that we couldn't recognize and that Mohammed guessed was some kind of cannon, and so we ran back to the village. I lost my shoe, got it again, and skinned my hands. Some PRCS emt's ran past us with a stretcher, and on the stretcher was an international kid who'd been shot in the head with a rubber-coated bullet and was unconscious and bleeding from the head. That can kill you.

That was the scariest part of the day. We went slowly again toward the front, but I didn't go again to the front front. I'm sorry to say I was not gutsy enough to put my body there again. We would walk forward (Mohammed, Kamleh and I), watching what was happening and learning how to look up to see where the tear gas is going to land. For a long time they fired one tear gas canister, one rubber-coated bullet, gas, bullet. At one point the gas canister fell in between Mohommed and me, and Kamleh who was standing about 12 steps ahead of us taking pictures. She fell and so breathed a lot of it, and injured her leg on a rock. She couldn't see for about 20 minutes after that and was trying not to throw up but otherwise that was the worst thing that happened to the three of us. We saw other people getting carried by on stretchers who were vomiting or couldn't breathe. Tear gas is not so bad when you're some distance from the source, but it's quite effective in making people scatter everywhere and causing chaos. I am a little bit disappointed in myself that i didn't go again to support the people in the front, but i felt like it was a bit futile. I didn't want to be stupid. Every time people regrouped, they fired more rubber-coated bullets. Move forward, fire, run. Move forward, fire, run. There needs to be something more creative. I'm at a loss as to what. It didn't matter where you were standing with regards to the gas, though. They fired it to the back of the demo and to all different places in between. I've heard from others who have spent more time in the villages that it's a problem because the Palestinian women attending demonstrations are most often at the back behind the men, where most of the tear gas lands.

So that afternoon we went back to Ramallah, made arayes, and went out to get knafe and coffee. We were all three better friends after that day, unsurprisingly. I can't help but think, though, that there is something incredibly wrong with the fact that the demo was met with that kind of violence, of course in general, as we were standing with our hands in the air, but also that day in particular. People said it was the worst military response in two years in Bil'in. What is wrong when they save the worst military response in two years for the weekend that has over 500 internationals and Israelis present? What is wrong when they save that response for all the media (well, more media than usual) that comes with Nobel Peace Prize winners? Why do they calculate that it is in their interest to show their power and brutality to the internationals by shooting old ladies with rubber-coated bullets? There is something really, really wrong here. Maybe they are calculating that essentially people like me will not be as willing to stand in the front, to come to demos or villages where the wall is. It worked, for now. Our embassies don't care when their citizens are shot for peacefully protesting. The media doesn't care, either. But the entire premise of the international presence is that our passports give us a protection and a certain power. Protection in that they can't shoot us and get away with it so we are effective human shields, and power because when the soldiers see our passports, they won't be as nasty because they don't want us telling the world what they do. My Palestinian friends look at my American passport as if it is something more valuable than most things you can get in life. They tell me that when i show it to the soldiers, it will be very easy for me and they will also be nicer to other people there because they don't want to show me their nastiness. That is the idea. But clearly, it has limits that reveal themselves when rubber-coated bullets strike the stomachs of old white grandmother ladies from about 20 yards or less. It was less than that actually. Did i mention there was also a high pressure water hose? Just like the pictures of the civil rights era.

So, this is what I'm writing for now. That was the conference. Don't worry, I don't intend to put myself in those kinds of situations excessively Tear gas is fine but I'm personally opposed to being shot by any metal object, rubber-coated or not. I didn't expect it to be as bad as it was actually. I was in the same village a year and a half ago and the demo was like a party, mostly because it was Eid and the Israeli army likes to make itself feel good every now and then by respecting a holiday and putting off the home invasions for about a week ( http://www.flickr.com/photos/eaa7/sets/72057594062490859/). Also, this weekend was literally hundreds of internationals. I did not expect it to be this bad. There is a lot more I need to write about what it was like to travel together with Kamleh. Both of us have American passports. But her name is Arab Muslim and mine is lovely Arab Francophone. Thank God my ancestors were Francophones. Based solely on my name, my father's name, and my grandfather's name, I have incredible freedom of movement. But based on our names, the asshole police (a less strong word would not be appropriate) tried to separate us and make us go through different doors even as tourists. Separation is intense. The same day, before the demo, we went to find the hotel where Kamleh's grandparents got married and took pictures. It was lovely and sad and i need to write about it but i also need to go to bed now, so i will send this for now and write later about other things.

Just Peas Please, (i know, i know)
Emily

3adee

word of the day: amatory

Yesterday, Amanda and I were sharing a cab from Shmeisani to go and get the lamb for today's Easter dinner, which, by the way, I'm currently smelling as it bakes in the oven. Before we got anywhere, the cab pulled over because SMOKE was pouring out of the dashboard inside the car onto the driver.

I knudged Amanda to get out, while the driver hopped around to lift the hood and inspect the damage. As we got out, the driver implored us to get back in, saying, "3adee, 3adee, 3adee." (normal, normal, it's ok...) I was thinking, are you kidding me? "La, mish 3adee!" I said (No it is not normal!!) We paid what was on the meter and got another cab that was driving out.

Did he seriously think we were going to get back into a smoking cab?

3adee.

oo the lamb smells really good.