I began this blog with a poem by Mahmoud Darwish, Palestine's national poet. I thought it only right, in keeping with my concern for balance and equality, to end my blog with a poem by the celebrated Israeli poet Rachel. (Plus, the choice of these two poets has the added value of being gender-balanced too.)
By now, I am back home, but my mind is still reeling with thoughts of Israel and Palestine. Rachel's poem reflects both the humble and passionate origins of the land, as well as its pervasive sadness. I've also included links to two interviews, one with a Palestinian poet and one with an Israeli. For me, where politics and policy fail, in poetry lies answers beyond reason or dogma. It is to the hidden truth of poetry that we must finally turn - not to agonizingly parsed peace treaties or quid pro quo agreements. Through conflict, we must learn to trust the guiding compass of our conscience and the universality of the human creed.
To My Country
I have not sung to you, my country,
not brought glory to your name
with the great deeds of a hero
or the spoils a battle yields.
But on the shores of the Jordan
my hands have planted a tree,
and my feet have made a pathway
through your fields.
Modest are the gifts I bring you.
I know this, mother.
Modest, I know, the offerings
of your daughter:
Only an outburst of song
on a day when the light flares up,
only a silent tear
for your poverty.
- Rachel
"For Palestinians, Identity Is Regained Through Poetry": http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/entertainment/jan-june07/poetry_03-22.html
Israeli Poetry Reflects Story of a Nation: http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/entertainment/jan-june07/poetry_03-21.html
(P.S. In case you didn't notice - all my blog entries until this one were titled with questions. By the end, I felt entitled to one answer, or at least a declarative statement...)
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Where Did My School Go?
In Amman now, I feel I should be reflecting on the entirety of the past two months, its scope, impact, personal meaning. But at the moment, sleep-deprived and sun-stroked, I feel that all I can muster is to describe a small but significant moment that happened to me a few days before leaving.
I had met an old school friend, someone I hadn’t seen in over seven years. We both used to live in Haifa and commuted daily to the American International School in Kfar Shemaryahu, right outside Herzliya and near Tel Aviv. Before I left Israel in 2002, AIS administration was in the process of purchasing land for a new school near Netanya. Recently completed and now fully operational, the new AIS is supposed to be quite a grand campus, dotted with tennis courts and a swimming pool in addition to other academic and recreational facilities. I was not able to visit, but from an old math teacher I heard that while the physical amenities are new and expansive, the old spirit is missing. Of course, this is the sad byproduct of change – what you gain in appearance and efficacy, sometimes you loose in ambiance and warmth.
Still, it was not the new school that concerned me, but the old. I asked my friend if we could drive by the old campus in Kfar Shemaryahu, for old time’s sake. She warned me I would be shocked. She warned me what to expect, but still I was unprepared for the sting.
Everything, every building, bench and bathroom had been completely removed. All that remained of the old AIS were the two rusty blue gates, one leading in from the bus lot, the other leading to the main entrance. The rest was overgrown weeds, a few trees, dirt piles, brambles. “That was the North Field, remember?” my friend pointed sadly. “And that was where the Kiosk was, where we used to eat lunch.”
As we sat in her car, we conjured the school as we had known it. Before our eyes, we saw the squished classrooms, the added trailers where no new classrooms could be erected, the gymnasium where I had captained the Middle School Hockey Marathon, the High School corridor, the open-air quad…
Suddenly, in the midst of our reveries and recollections, I turned to my friend and said, “So, now I know what it feels to be Palestinian.” My friend, an Israeli citizen, laughed at first, but let me go on with my extrapolation. For me, seeing the place where so many memories, good and bad, had been made, where I had spent three incredible, growth-laden years – seeing that place destroyed was to me a revelation. And it was only three years of my life! My old math teacher had taught there for 30 years. Palestinians have been in Israel for generations. The twinge I felt was an intimation, albeit slight, of what must have been the shocking devastation of being violently uprooted and then subsequently erased.
I must note, however, that this realization not only applies to my greater empathy for the Palestinians, but also for the Jews. By the end of this trip, I have shored up my initial assertion of balance with reading, observation and analysis. I now feel compelled to include both Israelis and Palestinians in statements of support but also of critique. Perhaps by this subtle interposition, I can somehow contribute to the imperative of rapprochement.
I had met an old school friend, someone I hadn’t seen in over seven years. We both used to live in Haifa and commuted daily to the American International School in Kfar Shemaryahu, right outside Herzliya and near Tel Aviv. Before I left Israel in 2002, AIS administration was in the process of purchasing land for a new school near Netanya. Recently completed and now fully operational, the new AIS is supposed to be quite a grand campus, dotted with tennis courts and a swimming pool in addition to other academic and recreational facilities. I was not able to visit, but from an old math teacher I heard that while the physical amenities are new and expansive, the old spirit is missing. Of course, this is the sad byproduct of change – what you gain in appearance and efficacy, sometimes you loose in ambiance and warmth.
Still, it was not the new school that concerned me, but the old. I asked my friend if we could drive by the old campus in Kfar Shemaryahu, for old time’s sake. She warned me I would be shocked. She warned me what to expect, but still I was unprepared for the sting.
Everything, every building, bench and bathroom had been completely removed. All that remained of the old AIS were the two rusty blue gates, one leading in from the bus lot, the other leading to the main entrance. The rest was overgrown weeds, a few trees, dirt piles, brambles. “That was the North Field, remember?” my friend pointed sadly. “And that was where the Kiosk was, where we used to eat lunch.”
As we sat in her car, we conjured the school as we had known it. Before our eyes, we saw the squished classrooms, the added trailers where no new classrooms could be erected, the gymnasium where I had captained the Middle School Hockey Marathon, the High School corridor, the open-air quad…
Suddenly, in the midst of our reveries and recollections, I turned to my friend and said, “So, now I know what it feels to be Palestinian.” My friend, an Israeli citizen, laughed at first, but let me go on with my extrapolation. For me, seeing the place where so many memories, good and bad, had been made, where I had spent three incredible, growth-laden years – seeing that place destroyed was to me a revelation. And it was only three years of my life! My old math teacher had taught there for 30 years. Palestinians have been in Israel for generations. The twinge I felt was an intimation, albeit slight, of what must have been the shocking devastation of being violently uprooted and then subsequently erased.
I must note, however, that this realization not only applies to my greater empathy for the Palestinians, but also for the Jews. By the end of this trip, I have shored up my initial assertion of balance with reading, observation and analysis. I now feel compelled to include both Israelis and Palestinians in statements of support but also of critique. Perhaps by this subtle interposition, I can somehow contribute to the imperative of rapprochement.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
War Zone or Comfort Zone?
My last internship visit was to the Geneva Initiative, a non-governmental organization that “provides realistic and achievable solutions on all issues [related to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict], based on previous official negotiations, international resolutions, the Quartet Roadmap, Clinton Parameters, Bush Vision, and Arab Peace Initiative.” This according to their mission statement. My roommate was primarily involved in revamping their English-language website (http://www.geneva-accord.org), as well as coordinating operations with the Palestinian office.
Interestingly, the Palestine office is not called “Geneva Initiative – Palestine” but rather the “Palestinian Peace Coalition.” When I asked one of her coworkers about the name disparity, he gave a thorough (though unofficial) rationale. Apparently, in some polls, Palestinians given a comprehensive peace agreement resembling the Geneva Accord but called something else are generally favorable to the approach. When given the same agreement under the name “Geneva Accord,” the favorability decreases significantly. It seems that the foreign-sounding name, along with the relationship to European and US benefactors, is distasteful to many Palestinians. Also, although both Arafat and Abu Mazen (Mahmoud Abbas) supported much of the substance of the Geneva Accord, they couldn’t officially state their support since doing so would compromise their initial bargaining stance, leaving them no fallback position.
This same coworker also mentioned that although no Palestinian leader has been brave enough to confront their public’s wishful thinking about the “right of return,” Arafat did attempt indirectly replace the refugee issue with the promise of Jerusalem. Since it is more likely that part of Jerusalem will come under Palestinian sovereignty than it is that Israel will allow a return of all refugees displaced in 1948 (which, frankly, will never happen), Arafat was attempting to shift his public’s expectations and also their priorities. In all his public appearances, Arafat repeated three times “Jerusalem al-Quds” or “Jerusalem the Holy.” It was the issue of Jerusalem that sank the Camp David talks of July 2000, not the right of return. In the Geneva Accord, Israel must absorb some number of refugees, equivalent in proportion to the average accepted by other third countries. However, the exact number is up to the Israeli state to determine. The fact is that no comprehensive refugee return policy can coexist with the reality of Israel as a Jewish state. The two concepts are mutually exclusive.
The Accord also stipulates that Jerusalem would be divided, with the Christian, Muslim and parts of the Armenian Quarters coming under Palestinian sovereignty, and the Jewish Quarter and other parts of the Armenian Quarter to be left in Israeli hands. Palestinians would also gain the right to fly their flag on the Haram al-Sharif, or Temple Mount, where the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque are located. The main document of the Geneva Accord can’t be more than 50 pages (the Annexes, as yet unpublished, run into the hundreds). I’ve read it, and, as anyone will tell you, there are no real surprises or innovations. It is roughly based on the Clinton Parameters of 2000, a short document (all of two pages), that provided the basic ingredients of a compromised peace.
I say “compromised peace” intentionally, for it will not be a true compromise, a good-faith give-and-take. Rather, both parties will be morally compromised by whatever political agreement is eventually hashed out. Why do I say this? Because the situation as it now stands only lends itself to cold peace (i.e. a formal one without cultural interaction), a cessation of hostilities maybe, but not a true restitution of life. I spoke in an earlier entry about the lack of imagination on both sides. But the capacity for imagination is more than the invention of new and better peace deals. Its true value lies as a mechanism for becoming more self-aware by becoming less self-centered. Imagination cultivates empathy because it lets us truly inhabit, albeit virtually, another mode of living, another set of circumstances, trials and triumphs. Without imagination there is no empathy, and without empathy there is no peace. I’ve waited a long time to bring up empathy. It’s a trait I consider vital to the human experience, but it’s also one (along with compassion, conscience, courage, etc.) that can be overused and lose its core value.
Going to the Geneva Initiative was not my first experience with the “peace industry,” as they call it here. But it did drive home for me just how much conflict and peace – cold peace, cessation of hostilities – feed off each other, reinforce each other, and, ultimately, defeat each other. There is a fatigue among the activists I’ve met, and (I would assume) among the politicians and militants too. A fatigue and a fear. “What will we do if there actually is peace? Where will my retirement pension go?” the activists ask, half-joking. Conflict and the broken promise of peace are the norm here, and humans are creatures of habit. The faculty of imagination requires practice and here it is dulled by decades of disuse. I’ve said before that this is a land of paradoxes, but for me this is the greatest: In addition to a war zone, this conflict is a comfort zone, a place where two people maintain an unsustainable status quo, killing themselves slowly while fighting for the right to exist.
Interestingly, the Palestine office is not called “Geneva Initiative – Palestine” but rather the “Palestinian Peace Coalition.” When I asked one of her coworkers about the name disparity, he gave a thorough (though unofficial) rationale. Apparently, in some polls, Palestinians given a comprehensive peace agreement resembling the Geneva Accord but called something else are generally favorable to the approach. When given the same agreement under the name “Geneva Accord,” the favorability decreases significantly. It seems that the foreign-sounding name, along with the relationship to European and US benefactors, is distasteful to many Palestinians. Also, although both Arafat and Abu Mazen (Mahmoud Abbas) supported much of the substance of the Geneva Accord, they couldn’t officially state their support since doing so would compromise their initial bargaining stance, leaving them no fallback position.
This same coworker also mentioned that although no Palestinian leader has been brave enough to confront their public’s wishful thinking about the “right of return,” Arafat did attempt indirectly replace the refugee issue with the promise of Jerusalem. Since it is more likely that part of Jerusalem will come under Palestinian sovereignty than it is that Israel will allow a return of all refugees displaced in 1948 (which, frankly, will never happen), Arafat was attempting to shift his public’s expectations and also their priorities. In all his public appearances, Arafat repeated three times “Jerusalem al-Quds” or “Jerusalem the Holy.” It was the issue of Jerusalem that sank the Camp David talks of July 2000, not the right of return. In the Geneva Accord, Israel must absorb some number of refugees, equivalent in proportion to the average accepted by other third countries. However, the exact number is up to the Israeli state to determine. The fact is that no comprehensive refugee return policy can coexist with the reality of Israel as a Jewish state. The two concepts are mutually exclusive.
The Accord also stipulates that Jerusalem would be divided, with the Christian, Muslim and parts of the Armenian Quarters coming under Palestinian sovereignty, and the Jewish Quarter and other parts of the Armenian Quarter to be left in Israeli hands. Palestinians would also gain the right to fly their flag on the Haram al-Sharif, or Temple Mount, where the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque are located. The main document of the Geneva Accord can’t be more than 50 pages (the Annexes, as yet unpublished, run into the hundreds). I’ve read it, and, as anyone will tell you, there are no real surprises or innovations. It is roughly based on the Clinton Parameters of 2000, a short document (all of two pages), that provided the basic ingredients of a compromised peace.
I say “compromised peace” intentionally, for it will not be a true compromise, a good-faith give-and-take. Rather, both parties will be morally compromised by whatever political agreement is eventually hashed out. Why do I say this? Because the situation as it now stands only lends itself to cold peace (i.e. a formal one without cultural interaction), a cessation of hostilities maybe, but not a true restitution of life. I spoke in an earlier entry about the lack of imagination on both sides. But the capacity for imagination is more than the invention of new and better peace deals. Its true value lies as a mechanism for becoming more self-aware by becoming less self-centered. Imagination cultivates empathy because it lets us truly inhabit, albeit virtually, another mode of living, another set of circumstances, trials and triumphs. Without imagination there is no empathy, and without empathy there is no peace. I’ve waited a long time to bring up empathy. It’s a trait I consider vital to the human experience, but it’s also one (along with compassion, conscience, courage, etc.) that can be overused and lose its core value.
Going to the Geneva Initiative was not my first experience with the “peace industry,” as they call it here. But it did drive home for me just how much conflict and peace – cold peace, cessation of hostilities – feed off each other, reinforce each other, and, ultimately, defeat each other. There is a fatigue among the activists I’ve met, and (I would assume) among the politicians and militants too. A fatigue and a fear. “What will we do if there actually is peace? Where will my retirement pension go?” the activists ask, half-joking. Conflict and the broken promise of peace are the norm here, and humans are creatures of habit. The faculty of imagination requires practice and here it is dulled by decades of disuse. I’ve said before that this is a land of paradoxes, but for me this is the greatest: In addition to a war zone, this conflict is a comfort zone, a place where two people maintain an unsustainable status quo, killing themselves slowly while fighting for the right to exist.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
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