Sound of Sleep or Invasion?

by Nancy Stohlman in Bethlehem

Friday, March 29 2002--10:30 pm

Internationals Confront IDF in Beit Jala,  • Saturday March 30, 2002 at 01:49 PM (Palestine Time)

We are waiting to be invaded. It seems inevitable. I have been told
that soldiers and automatic weapons are downstairs in the hotel lobby-
-I'll take their word for it. I need a few hours sleep or I'll be no
good to anyone.

6:00 am
All night long, I've rationalized the noises I've been hearing. My
brain tells me that the distant, booming sounds must be a parade, or
approaching thunder. The rat-a-tat must be the wind rattling the
windows. My mind shapeshifts these unfamiliar noises into familiar
catagories, and I tumble once again into fitful sleep.

For the record, Dehaisha is NOT a "neighborhood of Bethlehem," as
we've seen it euphemistically described. It is a refugee camp.
Eleven thousand people live in ONE SQUARE KILOMETER. Do the math--it
is a slum. The Palestinian people, forced to live in each other's
laps, cautiously peek out of windows. The young men pace the tiny,
cappillary streets holding cigarettes like their only friends. A
dozen media cameras film the crowd of internationals squeezing down
the muddy streets with signs: International Solidarity for Dehaisha.
The words are written again below in Arabic. My thumb is stained
black from the spray paint. Awni carries the other end of our sign
that reads International Presence.

Rounding the corner of the crowded camp, picture a pile of rubble that used to be a home. The freshly painted portrait of Dehaisha's latest martyr watches as we pass, perpetually frozen in proud posture. Along the walled streets, other ghosts bear witness to our passing, other portraits, some teenagers. They smile back at us from the grave, among the Arabic grafitti that I do not yet understand, but do not need too many guesses to figure out. The Italians sing songs, and brave children stand in the cold drizzle. I smile at a boy in a light blue sweater. He doesn't smile back, as if it's been
so long since he's smiled at a stranger that his muscles are failing him. But a moment later I feel him walking beside me, and despite his stoic expression, I can feel that his spirits are lifted. So are all of ours.

Politics in Palestine is not seperate from life, much like consumerism is not seperate from life in the US. It is understood that politics dictates life. Eating dinner, George reminded us that most Americans get their entire fountainhead of political information from the news. And even more amazing to him was that we unquestionable accept it. Here in Palestine, the people extract news from every possible source, then they DISCUSS it, deciding what is true and what is false. Then, after running the gathered mass of information through the filter of their own life experience do they
consider themselves truly informed. I admire their proactive sensibility. But wisdom doesn't come without a price--children
without smiles are under no delusions regarding the politics which dictate their lives. But neither is ignorance bliss. What is the quote--"If you're not outraged, then you're not paying attention."

In the elevator to use the Internet, Elizabet from Germany relays a chilling experience: Her taxi driver, heated from the uncertainty f escalation, yelled that if Arafat is killed, he would kill himself and take others with him. We decided that he wasn't kidding, and I wonder how many share his sentiment. 

The strange noises continue outside as dawn breaks. That one sounded like the roar of a lion. That one, the clinking of fine china during an unbalanced load on spin cycle.I just finished an phone interview with a tv station back home.

Gary did one three or four hours ago. Gary Anderson has embraced the photographer inside himself(smile). Once we figure out how to download pictures, we will be sending them.

(now)
I only have a moment. Beit Jala was taken over, and we are preparing to confront the tanks. Depending on the success of our
venture, we may be staying with families in Beit Jala this evening. If not, we will probably be staying with the families in Dehaisha, protecting them from the encroaching invasion. It means so much to them to have us there. Our foreign passports are their only real protection. I worry because I am dark skinned, but there are many Italians and French here, too. I feel that our international presence at this moment in time is a crucial weapon of peace, a weapon that is a bit rusty in this part of the world, but a secret weapon nonetheless, whose power is just emerging. Now that I am here, I am
fearless.

Respectfully,
Nancy Stohlman
 

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