we are all one. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
20,000 kids starve to death every day on earth.

desperate people work long hours cheap. wall street profits. the USA sells weapons to the corrupt leaders of the starving. we eat food grown on land stolen from the ancestors of the starving. we all suffer.
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3 stories from Nablus, Palestine in the Occupied West Bank
Summer 2002 with the Interantional Solidarity Movement:
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Hi y’all,

I have just left Nablus. The spirit of the people there amazes me. The heart of the Palestinian people beats louder than the Israeli tank fire. If you are feeling depressed, there is no better therapy than hanging with these extremely oppressed people. No one report can possibly explain the suffering Palestine endures. Everyone knows someone who has been murdered by the Israeli army. Most of the men and many of the boys have scars. “We all have a volcano in our heart.”

Yet, Nablus has more smiling faces than Boston. People tell jokes, (mostly about the occupation). Festivals are organized for the children, (schools are closed due to curfew). There is dancing and singing. People share everything. They lean on each other in ways we in the west find hard to fathom, (no Prozac in Palestine).

OK, so I will try to explain with one story. On August 31, I traveled with 5 Palestinians from Nablus to Qalqilya. Osama, an ISM organizer asked me to help him escort a family he knew from Qalqilya to their home, (a pregnant mother and her 3 young daughters). They were in Nablus visiting her parents. They had not seen each other in 2 years. Curfew was lifted on this day, (the only day the city was open during my 2 weeks in Nablus), so we met in the city center. We got a taxi at 11:30am and traveled about 1 mile when we ran into a makeshift checkpoint with 2 tanks and 2 APC. We watched for a while as people mulled about hoping to cross. We watched and filmed for a while deciding what to do. The kids cried, (they must have known what we were thinking). As the crowd grew more restless, 2 soldiers fired over their heads sending most of the Palestinians running. 1 of the tanks and 1 of the APCs drove by into the city. After things calmed down, we tried to cross. (Going around over a mountain would have too hard on the family).

Slowly, we approached. Osama took more film. We asked if we could cross. A soldier said no. We asked again. A soldier picked up some garbage and made a line, (about 15 meters from the tank. We stood behind the line. We asked again if we could cross. A soldier told Osama (carrying one of the little girls), and I to walk over to the tank. We asked if we could cross, and the soldier said no. Osama asked if we could talk to the captain. He came over and asked me what I was doing. I told him I was helping this family get to Qalqilya. He yelled at me, “Now you have made me mad! Sit down next to the tank!” This went on for over 2 hours. Twice I was asked if I wanted to be shot. They took Osama’s papers and my passport and told me I was going to be deported. Eventually they calmed down and let the rest of the family come over to the tank. We got into a discussion with one of the soldiers. We asked him about the killing of innocent civilians. He said that if 4 innocents died, but one “terrorist” was killed, it made him feel calm. When I told him I believed in love your enemy, he asked me if I loved him. I said, I love you, but not your gun. He cradled his M-16 and said, “This is my baby. It has kept me alive for 3 years.” At 2:15 they let us go.

Next, we walked through a plastics factory with an open sewer. We reached an open road again after 30 minutes, but we could not get a taxi. Lenore, (the oldest girl, 5 years old), and I walked down the street hand in hand. She was very strong, and easy to get to laugh without tanks in sight. At 3 o’clock, a man with a donkey cart gave the family and our bags a lift, while Osama and I walked. At 3:30 we arrived at another checkpoint. I was questioned first. A soldier asked me what the tall building with a round top was in Boston. I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. He said, “you know, the building they show at the start of “Frazier” on TV”. I don’t watch “Frazier”. But I thought about it, and realized Frazier must have moved from Boston to Seattle after “Cheers”. He apologized, and asked me to move away. He then questioned Osama for 10 minutes. Then we passed. The donkey driver brought us away from the soldiers to a big tree with plenty of shade. Another donkey cart came down from a village up a hill with a big bottle of water for us. We waited.

At 4 a truck let us squeeze inside where the back seat used to be. They drove us up over a big hill on a dirt road where we met a taxi. After about 5 minutes in the taxi we realized that Lenore’s new school clothes were still in the truck. With the help of many of his neighbors, we found the farm the truck was from and got the clothes back. At 5:30 the taxi dropped us off at a roadblock. After 15 minutes we hitched a ride in a van. At 6, we were at the checkpoint in Qalqilya. After chatting pleasantly with a soldier, (a very mean soldier according to Osama), about the USA, we got a taxi ride into town. At 6:10 we dropped off the family. They were most grateful, and happy to be home.

Peace and Love, Terry


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Hi y’all,
While in Nablus, I stayed in the Balatta refuge camp at the Titi (family) house. All the members of the Titi family were funny, gracious hosts. We talked philosophically for hours. We played backgammon.
It is an at-risk home for destruction, because their son Jihad was a suicide bomber.
Please check out the web page:
thestoryofjihad.org/ an excerpt:

<i> Jihad, 18 years old, was a popular boy and a bright student who excelled in English and Mathematics. Though religious, neither he nor his family could be described as fanatics. Everyone describes him as a very compassionate and caring boy. Like most boys his age he dreamed of buying a car one day - a car with an amazing stereo. He had a great sense of humor and an eye on the future, always advising friends to work hard, learn a trade, and establish themselves before they took on the responsibility of marriage. He was also something of a clothes horse - by Balatta Camp standards anyway. Like everyone else, Jihad suffered many hardships under occupation but they didn't get him down. He was the one who always advised others not to dwell on the difficulty of life under occupation but to be patient and step over the hurdles. He helped many people who had been wounded or who lost their livelihood; his outlook was always positive and he never lost sight of his goal. He had a girlfriend who he planned to marry someday, he had many friends, and he was especially close to his cousin Mahmoud, who was shot dead by the Israeli army.
</i>

Balatta refugee camp is an active, extremely friendly, (24 hour) curfew-breaking place. I felt completely at home with the people there. Everybody says hello, (most all the kids ask smiling, "What's your name?). I could have spent a month going from home to home to have tea, (or coffee or cola). I went to two kids’ festivals and cut loose with hundreds! (This was very loud. The more you like kids, the more fun you will have in Palestine).
During the 2 weeks I spent in Balatta, I saw Israeli tanks patrolling around or in the camp almost every day. Twice, late at night, the Israeli army attacked. The first was at 1:30 am on 8/30. We watched a tank parked 30-40 meters to the right of Titi on the main market road. About 15 minutes later, we heard the 7 or 8 shots from a Palestinian gun firing from the left. A few minutes later, the tank responded with a tank shell. It exploded 40-50 meters to the left. (This was very, very loud, and terrifying. I threw myself to the ground). The tank drove away.

Two of us went out to see the result. The shell ripped through 3 cement poles. It blew off a shop front. Windows nearby were blown out. Garbage cans were ripped open by multiple pieces of shrapnel. It was lying everywhere. No one was injured. One person, (a Hamas professor), was arrested. The next day, when asked about what happened there, a Palestinian man showed me the newspaper, and said, "Look what they did in Gaza!” Four children, brothers and cousins, had been murdered by the Israeli army. The shop didn't matter.

The second attack, the whole camp predicted. There were rumors of an attack for days, when a fighter from the camp attacked a nearby settlement. He shot and injured 3 Israeli settlers before being killed.

2 days later, at 3:25 am on 9/5, we were awoken by the sound of automatic rifle fire. It came from 2 directions. It was close. There were 2 sides and the fight seemed to move slowly away and behind the house as the Israeli machine guns opened up. It sounded to me like about 40 shots came from the Palestinian side, and 1000 from the Israeli. At 3:45, the shooting slowed and ended. (I was sitting in the back stairwell, watching my watch, and the sky, listening to the circling Apache helicopters above). About 5 minutes later there was another, less intense firefight in front of the house. This lasted 15 minutes. The fight ended as a tank approached. It went down the main market road and fired its machine guns a few times, with no response. Israeli foot soldiers, (I could clearly hear their very intense short conversations), followed the tank at a distance as it drove away. 5 minutes later another tank drove up. There was no shooting. At 4:20 it drove off, and the sounds of the army died away. No one was reported injured. A father and his 4 adult sons were arrested from 1 house. I wonder if we would have gotten a visit from the Israeli army if not for the Palestinian fighters?

Still a pacifist, Terry



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Hi y’all,

I see alot of messed up kids when I substitute teach in Boston. But I saw a new level in Old Askar refugee camp, in Nablus. Askar is the poorest place I visited in Palestine. The occupation is a harsher reality in Askar; (the wide main street makes it easier for the Israeli tanks, very unusual for a refugee camp). The anger at the occupation is fierce.

Children lead the charge with a wave of stones, (which i never saw come close to hitting a tank). The kids are the majority. Many have escaped parental control.

When 6 days a week have a 24-hour curfew, there is no school. More so in Askar, the boys see this as more time available to chase tanks. Tank chasing is a rush. Hitting a tank with a stone must be a mega-rush. The stone throwers have an intense look in their eye. They are hyped up on adrenaline. Fights amongst themselves are rare. But when they happen, stones are often thrown. When a Palestinian truck drives up to a checkpoint, stones are sometimes hitting the truck. Come to Palestine to work with at risk kids. They are desperate for attention.

The first time i was in Askar, four of my fellow internationals were buying food for people living in an occupied home. A strategically located house occupied on the top floor by the Israeli army. (Israel using Palestinian civilians as human shields). I was outside the shop entertaining kids with silly tricks and my 30 words of Arabic. They were roaring for more. (Palestinian kids are the easiest crowd I’ve ever had).

When we left the shop up the main road they were trying to drag me back. They were not used to having fun. I broke away and jogged laughing to the front of our group. About two minutes later, Gabe (USA), was hit in the head with a stone. There was no blood, but he was clearly hurt and upset.

We walked down the road to a shop, bought some cola, and complained about this to the shopkeeper. He said he had watched me joking with the kids. He said I should have been more careful. He was the first Palestinian who told me that these kids were out of the parents’ control. The reason they threw rocks was because they wanted the entertainment to continue. I experienced this a few times in Nablus. Twice, i was hit with small stones, (in the head only!) when walking away from my scores of conversations with stone throwers.

We walked past the open sewer, and out of the camp, to the 4 story occupied house nearby. It was near 2 big open fields, and was covered in camouflage netting. We crossed the field with arms out, holding the food. We came around to the front of the house, where the family waved for us to come past the main entrance and inside. We paused, knowing the Israeli soldiers had seen us. Five seconds later, two soldiers came out. They told us to give them the food and go. We talked to them for 2 minutes. The Palestinians apologized for the rude neighbors upstairs in broken English and sign language. We all smiled at the ridiculous situation. But their stress was great. They had heavily armed soldiers watching their every move. They could not break curfew. The people of Nablus love to break curfew! Prison is harder to bear when you are not let out of your cell.

On our return into Askar camp, We saw an Armored Personnel Carrier and 4 Israeli soldiers. One was kneeling and aiming his automatic rifle at the kids shouting at them in the distance. Others in our group yelled "Stop!” and "What are you doing!” at the soldier. He turned his head with a "Who are you?” look in his eye. But he got up and took out the
clip and emptied the bullet from the chamber. We walked by. The soldiers said nothing.

As we approached the about 40 kids, they started throwing rocks in our direction. The Internationals in front tried waving and saying no, no! But Gabe taking out his Palestinian headscarf brought 5 of the kids running to meet us. We talked to them for a while, and decided three of us would stay. We moved to the other side of the main street and tried to separate ourselves from the kids. After a few minutes, a tank came, and all the kids scattered. The tank, followed by the APC came down the street to where the kids were and turned left, driving right next to us on the corner. The tank kept its gun trained on us, (hands outstretched looking innocent and concerned), as it drove up and by. I was very scared, and moved a little towards a large pole. As the tank drove away, Kota (Japan), told me never to hide. They will shoot you if you hide.

Ten days later, i was used to tank guns pointing at me. There was a demonstration against the occupation and for open schools. The planned route was for the same walk from Askar to the occupied house. There were about 100 kids, 50 Palestinian adults, and 12 internationals, (Freedom Summer was over, our numbers are thin). In all we made about 10 big signs in Arabic, English, Hebrew, and Japanese. We got started late, and lost 2 of our 4 local press people who showed up. At first, only Palestinian women and girls were to march. Later, boys were told they could march with us if they put on the light blue shirts they wore to school. In the end, the whole stone throwing school skipping boys and young men were with us. As we marched down the street, i took the role of peacekeeper. Most of the kids liked me and if i asked min fadlak, (please), most would move behind the internationals in front. A few of the most brazen would get around me and to the front, where the Palestinian women organizers would come get them and escort them back. Things were under control, and the demonstration was getting festive when an Israeli tank roared across a field to cut us off. It drove within 5 meters of us and belched out thick white exhaust fumes out of its left side (only). We people towards the front could not see our eyelashes. I stepped back 1 meter and was clear and could see that a few of the kids were jogging away, but most everyone had held their ground. I took a deep breath and went back in. The tank didn't move and made smoke for almost a minute. It was toxic. (Many of us had headaches all day). When a jeep pulled up the tank moved
away and stopped belching the smoke. I had to work very hard to prevent kids from coming out to watch the tank and the soldiers from the jeep, about 15 meters away. We all sat down and falafel sandwiches were passed out. We chanted and sang songs. 2 Palestinians and an American negotiated with the soldiers. They said we planned to march to the occupied house. The soldiers said we would force them to shoot kids in the legs if we passed.

We stayed for 40 minutes. It was becoming impossible to keep the stone throwers from coming around the front of the demo. At one point i gave up and just put myself in between the tank gun, which was pointing at the kids. It moved a little, i moved a little. Back and forth and up and down i danced with the turret operator. Many of us were laughing, (i think even the soldier pointing the tank gun), until i was told to stop taunting the tank by an American. So i told every body i couldn't control the side of the demo, and was going to the rear, and try to bring some of the most hyped up kids with me. About 20 of the stone throwers came with me. I sat down exhausted, and frustrated, so they pulled my hair. These kids really liked me. But they had trouble showing it. After about 5 more minutes of talking and occasional hair pulling, we marched back to Askar.

Askar was the only place in Palestine where it was common for kids to beg, and demand candy. It was the only place I saw anyone try to steal, (though half-heartedly). It is the only place I felt disappointed by kids in Palestine. But the kids were very interesting and philosophical. I would love to be their teacher.

Askar has more bikes than other places. I rode on about 10 bikes in Palestine, about half in Askar. Every single one of them had major problems. I most regret that I didn't bring some simple bike tools to fix some breaks and true some wheels. Palestine needs a Bikes not Bombs giving away mountain bikes, (for the terrain is rough with rubble in urban Palestine), that kids learn and build themselves.

Peace and Love, Terry