Whilst growing up, Israel/Palestine wasn’t on my radar at all. I didn’t pay notice to British politics, let alone foreign conflicts in seemingly distant lands. All I knew was that Israel was the Jewish state, and with Jewish heritage in the family and Tottenham’s visible Jewish community, it seemed like a great thing – a proud nation born out of a horrendous act of genocide.
At my university (Goldsmiths) there were lots of pro-Palestine activists, and a strong solidarity campaign, but I never really looked into it. I didn’t understand the reasons for the conflict, and I never tried to – I always felt that if anything, my ‘side’ should be with Israel. If the issue ever arose I would trot out misinformed statements like “there are loads of Arabic/Muslim states, the Jews need and deserve one too”. I never went much deeper than that, because I didn’t know what I was talking about, but I felt that Israel was probably a good thing.
When I knew that we were going to the region for the next instalment of Football Beyond Borders, I started to actually research the subject, and read a couple of books about it – one general history, and one by Thomas Friedman. After reading these, I realised that I had definitely been misinformed before, and for the first time my sense of justice and humanity made me feel pro-Palestinian. However, I still had a lingering feeling that some Palestinian solidarity movements within the UK bordered on anti-Semitism (which I despise, having read about it after I discovered my great-grandfathers had fled Germany for the UK to escape the Nazi regime, and experienced it in Tottenham). So going into the trip, I was keen to maintain a balance which I felt was often overlooked, and was one of the few members who advocated us playing a game in Israel as well if it was logistically possible.
However, as soon as we entered Israel via the Taba/Eilat crossing, my feelings started to change. I think border guards and police forces across the world are all intrinsically institutionally racist, and never to be trusted or liked anyway, but the IDF at the border took this to a new level, with their policy of open racial profiling meaning that Omar and Joseph (the Arab-looking guys in the team) were immediately separated and heavily questioned, with a further seven of us also held behind for 6 hours and questioned intermittently for no apparent reason other than to punish us for having been to Syria or having non-white skin. The worst part of this experience though was not being held but the obvious contempt in which the non-white members of the group were held, especially Omar and Joseph, who both handled the situation with quiet dignity.
Cab drivers are another bad measure of a country’s levels of tolerance and respect. But both drivers who took us from the border to the Bus Station were particularly contemptible racists, spewing their hate from as soon as we stepped in the car. In addition to this, we were also pretty sure that we were being followed to the bus station by the IDF, who presumably were checking or story. All of which added up to create a really unpleasant first impression of Israel. It was the first time for me personally that I had felt so uncomfortable and unpleasantly about a place I had visited.
Throughout our short time in Israel, the contempt in which Muslim or Arabic people were held was clear for all to see – with Joseph and Omar garnering nasty looks, and with some Jewish Israeli’s refusing to speak to Joseph, give him directions or answer his questions.
Then came the most obvious symbol if Israeli Apartheid – the wall. As British citizens in an Israeli bus we breezed through, but this is obviously not the case for Palestinians – when we told our hosts in Balata and Farkha that we were going to Jersualem to see the old city, for example, they all told us of how envious they were, as they had never been allowed to go.
On the Palestinian side of the wall, the divide between Palestinians and Israeli’s was even more evident than in Israel itself. This was evident not only in the clear divide which the wall signified, but also in the architectue of the space, which was once again visibly Middle Eastern, making the weird North American/European mesh of Israel seem even more out of place – as if a medium-sized American County and a large Belgian city had both been dropped simultaneously onto the land from a great height., smashing and mixing into one generic ‘Western’ place as they landed.
After just a few days in Nablus, we then experience a small slice of Apartheid first-hand, as we were denied access to ancient Samaria by an IDF roadblock on the hill. We had forgotten our passports, and anyway had a Palestinian driver. When Joseph went to speak to the soldiers at the roadblock, who told him to wait for a short time, when we would then be let through. Speaking in Hebrew, they then joked to themselves that they would make us wait for an hour or two before denying us entry. Unbeknown to them though, our driver understood Hebrew, and thus turned us around, saving us the humiliating wait.
And so after just two days in Israel/Palestine, the evidence of Israeli Apartheid was smacking us in the face. In Balata and Farkha, we also experienced the sudden turn from enjoyment to panic and worry which Palestinians must feel far too often, as the IDF came through the area late at night. Although we could barely begin to empathise with the lives of our hosts, the small slice of life in Apartheid Israel that we experienced was more than enough evidence that the way that our generation reacts to the injustice faced by Palestinians on a daily basis will more likely than not define how future generations judge us.
News, comment and analysis on football and social change
Friday, 2 March 2012
Physical Poverty in the West Bank
Though I thought I was going to Palestine with an open mind and ready to learn, my first experiences had to wash away the dead wood before they could create their own impressions. The polarising, essentialising Western media may well be at the root of these misconceptions.
By the most widely-used definitions of poverty – which are also the most superficial – the people of the West Bank are not amongst the poorest in the world. From the lack of homelessness to the reliable provision of water and electricity, the observed Palestine stood at odds with the painted picture (although Gaza, of course, is a different story). But further still, I witnessed a society that held university education in high regard, that saw the pursuit of truth as an end goal in itself and a society more politically and historically aware than that of my home country. These are not things that I had been able to learn through a British media coverage which paints all Palestinians as either menacing terrorists or helpless victims.
When I was talking to Abla, a Palestinian woman who hosted us in the West Bank, she told me a fitting phrase in Arabic, which translates as: ‘You don’t know what is happening on the other side of a wall’. Referring to a better-hidden physical poverty, a more private and acceptable suffering, this was a sharp reminder that my impressions did not necessarily tell the whole story. Indeed, when we smelt the stench of sewage from an Israeli settlement polluting a Palestinian water source, we clearly witnessed just one of the physical hardships of occupation. Despite this, absolute poverty was not the root cause of the passionate desire for change held by all the Palestinians we met. Rather, it was their lack of freedoms and self-determination.
This made the role of charity in the West Bank appear particularly ludicrous. The aid industry is often criticised for its short-sightedness, tokenism and hypocrisy, but nowhere bears this out more than the village of Farkha in the West Bank, where a public square stands built with USAID funding, whilst the village’s inhabitants are held up at IDF checkpoints on their way to work and university, and see new Israeli settlements being built weekly on once-Palestinian land.
By the most widely-used definitions of poverty – which are also the most superficial – the people of the West Bank are not amongst the poorest in the world. From the lack of homelessness to the reliable provision of water and electricity, the observed Palestine stood at odds with the painted picture (although Gaza, of course, is a different story). But further still, I witnessed a society that held university education in high regard, that saw the pursuit of truth as an end goal in itself and a society more politically and historically aware than that of my home country. These are not things that I had been able to learn through a British media coverage which paints all Palestinians as either menacing terrorists or helpless victims.
When I was talking to Abla, a Palestinian woman who hosted us in the West Bank, she told me a fitting phrase in Arabic, which translates as: ‘You don’t know what is happening on the other side of a wall’. Referring to a better-hidden physical poverty, a more private and acceptable suffering, this was a sharp reminder that my impressions did not necessarily tell the whole story. Indeed, when we smelt the stench of sewage from an Israeli settlement polluting a Palestinian water source, we clearly witnessed just one of the physical hardships of occupation. Despite this, absolute poverty was not the root cause of the passionate desire for change held by all the Palestinians we met. Rather, it was their lack of freedoms and self-determination.
This made the role of charity in the West Bank appear particularly ludicrous. The aid industry is often criticised for its short-sightedness, tokenism and hypocrisy, but nowhere bears this out more than the village of Farkha in the West Bank, where a public square stands built with USAID funding, whilst the village’s inhabitants are held up at IDF checkpoints on their way to work and university, and see new Israeli settlements being built weekly on once-Palestinian land.
Jerusalem, and a forgotten side to my youth
I am the son of an Irish Catholic and a Sri Lankan Chinese Catholic. This unforgiving cocktail (no oxymoron intended) would suggest a very regimented and doctrinaire upbringing; in many ways this suggestion would be correct.
Christmas and Easter were huge celebrations in my household and Sundays were always reserved for a trip to the church and then to the football pitch for the inevitable Sunday league mud-fest. Stories of Jesus were to be my first encounter with the land of Israel/Palestine, (or what was called Judea in Jesus’ time). Stories of healing, teaching, betrayal and sacrifice would be the major themes that would mark my first conceptualisation of this terminally troubled land. At school and at home, the public and the private of a young boys life would have these themes, which in turn would be linked to such historic and legendary places like the Sinai, Bethlehem and Jerusalem.
Then puberty hit like a freight train, and although I was never a bible-bashing zealot, there was a noticeable transformation in my priorities, as “God” became “goddesses” and communal wine turned into, well, just wine. These years can be seen to have been marked by endless hedonistic nights with alcohol in a park (and as I got older, a nightclub) - however, politics also started to grab my attention, and maturation in that sense also accompanied my adolescent years. My politics were, in retrospect, defined by standing for justice, and fighting the corner of the poor and downtrodden. Discrimination on any grounds turned my stomach at a very young age.
At the time I believed that these morals had come from the works of Plato, Marx, Lenin, John Pilger, Noam Chomsky, Arthur Miller and all of these other A-level favourites. The secularisation of my politics, I believe, was beginning and my altruism was defined by this process I was living through. The war in Iraq is bad. Why? Because Chomsky says it’s an imperialist plot to grab Iraq's oil. Bush’s negligence in regards to those in New Orleans is bad. Why? Because a New Left Review article states that poor blacks in the southern states fall at the bottom of America's socio-political totem pole. When I decided to back Joseph and carve out an ideology for the tour to Egypt and Palestine my ideas were still, I believed at the time, guided by these secular humanistic values. As I entered Jerusalem however, something awoke inside me.
The stories of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a Donkey, the last supper, Judas’ betrayal and the sacrifice at Calgary had happened on this land. I say 'stories' because that’s what they are to me, however that does not take away from the eerie ghosts that awoke within my consciousness. For a long time I have called myself an atheist, and rejected the singular and corrosive ethical narrative espoused from the Vatican, but I have not taken stock of the irreversible effect these stories have had upon how I view myself and the world. At the centre of the faith I had held on to so dearly for so many years is the idea of social justice - something I didn’t know when I was six, sixteen or six months ago. Even reading the works of liberation theologists from Northern Ireland and Peru did not sway me into believing in this concept. However, I have since taken stock of visiting such a poigniant destination like Jerusalem, and this has enabled me to acknowledge that the idea of social justice was planted in my head at an early age via the story of Jesus, and has transcended my rejection of his story as fact and divinely ordained. Without this personal history, I cannot say that my politics would be what they are today, and I cannot say whether I would have devoted my time to the last three tours in the way I did.
As I write this, I have been offered a place at an internship in Jerusalem which begins in three months. It researches human rights abuses against Palestinians in the city and surrounding areas. Jerusalem, the city which in many ways initiated my political journey, will see me return in order to continue it. The philosophy that was unconsciously implanted in me by its most famous dweller is the genealogical driving force for my decision to return and fight for the rights of the Palestinians.
Christmas and Easter were huge celebrations in my household and Sundays were always reserved for a trip to the church and then to the football pitch for the inevitable Sunday league mud-fest. Stories of Jesus were to be my first encounter with the land of Israel/Palestine, (or what was called Judea in Jesus’ time). Stories of healing, teaching, betrayal and sacrifice would be the major themes that would mark my first conceptualisation of this terminally troubled land. At school and at home, the public and the private of a young boys life would have these themes, which in turn would be linked to such historic and legendary places like the Sinai, Bethlehem and Jerusalem.
Then puberty hit like a freight train, and although I was never a bible-bashing zealot, there was a noticeable transformation in my priorities, as “God” became “goddesses” and communal wine turned into, well, just wine. These years can be seen to have been marked by endless hedonistic nights with alcohol in a park (and as I got older, a nightclub) - however, politics also started to grab my attention, and maturation in that sense also accompanied my adolescent years. My politics were, in retrospect, defined by standing for justice, and fighting the corner of the poor and downtrodden. Discrimination on any grounds turned my stomach at a very young age.
At the time I believed that these morals had come from the works of Plato, Marx, Lenin, John Pilger, Noam Chomsky, Arthur Miller and all of these other A-level favourites. The secularisation of my politics, I believe, was beginning and my altruism was defined by this process I was living through. The war in Iraq is bad. Why? Because Chomsky says it’s an imperialist plot to grab Iraq's oil. Bush’s negligence in regards to those in New Orleans is bad. Why? Because a New Left Review article states that poor blacks in the southern states fall at the bottom of America's socio-political totem pole. When I decided to back Joseph and carve out an ideology for the tour to Egypt and Palestine my ideas were still, I believed at the time, guided by these secular humanistic values. As I entered Jerusalem however, something awoke inside me.
The stories of Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a Donkey, the last supper, Judas’ betrayal and the sacrifice at Calgary had happened on this land. I say 'stories' because that’s what they are to me, however that does not take away from the eerie ghosts that awoke within my consciousness. For a long time I have called myself an atheist, and rejected the singular and corrosive ethical narrative espoused from the Vatican, but I have not taken stock of the irreversible effect these stories have had upon how I view myself and the world. At the centre of the faith I had held on to so dearly for so many years is the idea of social justice - something I didn’t know when I was six, sixteen or six months ago. Even reading the works of liberation theologists from Northern Ireland and Peru did not sway me into believing in this concept. However, I have since taken stock of visiting such a poigniant destination like Jerusalem, and this has enabled me to acknowledge that the idea of social justice was planted in my head at an early age via the story of Jesus, and has transcended my rejection of his story as fact and divinely ordained. Without this personal history, I cannot say that my politics would be what they are today, and I cannot say whether I would have devoted my time to the last three tours in the way I did.
As I write this, I have been offered a place at an internship in Jerusalem which begins in three months. It researches human rights abuses against Palestinians in the city and surrounding areas. Jerusalem, the city which in many ways initiated my political journey, will see me return in order to continue it. The philosophy that was unconsciously implanted in me by its most famous dweller is the genealogical driving force for my decision to return and fight for the rights of the Palestinians.
Over The Wall
Back in September I set out with the SOAS football team on a mission to try and make a documentary about the latest installment of Football Beyond Borders. What started out as more of an adventure on something of a whim - with just two low budget cameras and some tapes - soon turned into something more serious, as news began to unfold around us and the scale of the team's goal dawned on the players.
The next month would represent a seminal moment for many of team members, as we embarked upon an ambitious itinerary in an extremely complex region that was being hotly contested. The old order in Egypt was being challenged before our eyes, and the peace treaty between Israel and Egypt was coming under increased scrutiny.
A bombing campaign on Gaza, the risk of hostage attacks in the Sinai and a very vigilant Israeli border control ensured that suspicion was rife and every judgement the team made was bound to come under scrutiny. The group soon came to realise that ultimately they could only trust their own instincts in what now felt a long way from the classrooms of SOAS.
Although seemingly intrusive at first, the camera gradually became a point of refuge, a place where both players and locals alike could come and share their opinions. Typically someone who is outspoken and forthright, I had to learn the art of listening. Through becoming more of an observer I would come to see the importance of consideration, understanding and ultimately conviction.
In the face of events unfolding around them, would the guys continue with the tour and into Palestine? The outcome of this decision would ultimately transform the outlook of many of the players.
The common representation of different peoples and events by international media and policy makers did not correlate with what the players were witnessing and experiencing. How could such warm and welcoming people be so brazenly labelled as terrorists and violent protagonists? Although somewhat disconcerting at first, the players would come to revel in their newfound desire to reconstruct their own image of this world. They were hungry to learn and imbued with a sense of responsibility from the body of knowledge they acquired. I was left feeling inspired and enthused by this group of young men who were articulate, brave and determined to stand up for what they believed in.
The documentary that Matthew Kay and myself have made about the journey, entitled Over The Wall, charts this remarkable journey from the classrooms of SOAS to crossing the Sinai and beyond. It provides an insight into this unique group of young men, who challenge common perceptions of the Middle East, football and activism.
The next month would represent a seminal moment for many of team members, as we embarked upon an ambitious itinerary in an extremely complex region that was being hotly contested. The old order in Egypt was being challenged before our eyes, and the peace treaty between Israel and Egypt was coming under increased scrutiny.
A bombing campaign on Gaza, the risk of hostage attacks in the Sinai and a very vigilant Israeli border control ensured that suspicion was rife and every judgement the team made was bound to come under scrutiny. The group soon came to realise that ultimately they could only trust their own instincts in what now felt a long way from the classrooms of SOAS.
Although seemingly intrusive at first, the camera gradually became a point of refuge, a place where both players and locals alike could come and share their opinions. Typically someone who is outspoken and forthright, I had to learn the art of listening. Through becoming more of an observer I would come to see the importance of consideration, understanding and ultimately conviction.
In the face of events unfolding around them, would the guys continue with the tour and into Palestine? The outcome of this decision would ultimately transform the outlook of many of the players.
The common representation of different peoples and events by international media and policy makers did not correlate with what the players were witnessing and experiencing. How could such warm and welcoming people be so brazenly labelled as terrorists and violent protagonists? Although somewhat disconcerting at first, the players would come to revel in their newfound desire to reconstruct their own image of this world. They were hungry to learn and imbued with a sense of responsibility from the body of knowledge they acquired. I was left feeling inspired and enthused by this group of young men who were articulate, brave and determined to stand up for what they believed in.
The documentary that Matthew Kay and myself have made about the journey, entitled Over The Wall, charts this remarkable journey from the classrooms of SOAS to crossing the Sinai and beyond. It provides an insight into this unique group of young men, who challenge common perceptions of the Middle East, football and activism.
Dissertation Dilemma
Reflecting on our amazing experiences in the Middle-East, the inevitable nostalgia is enhanced by the realization that a few weeks before we departed, I wasn’t even sure if I should go. I had a difficult choice to make, knowing that my Masters dissertation was due smack bang in the middle of our trip, and that I wasn’t even close to finishing. I was faced with having to miss the trip to ensure I got it done properly, or risk writing most of it whilst on the tour, with no guarantee of Wi-Fi and knowing that it would be extremely hard to find time in our packed schedule. In the end, there was only ever going to be one choice – I couldn’t miss out on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! So I packed my laptop, crammed as many books as possible into my luggage, and hoped for the best!
The month that followed was one of the most intense and exciting experiences of my life, and truly challenged the limits of my mental and physical capabilities. I had the least sleep of any of the team, with many a late night spent typing away whilst others slept. I even tried to get work done on bus journeys, but often the deep team debates or the regular eruptions of team banter that surrounded me would prove too tempting to ignore. As the team dynamic got steadily stronger it became difficult to detach myself from these debates and bonding sessions, which nevertheless provided a welcome relief from much academic head-scratching!
As the deadline approached menacingly, I found myself having to miss matches and activities to try and get it finished. Luckily, the team were very understanding, and our hosts were also incredibly helpful on every step of the way. For example, in Nablus our hosts at the Yafa Cultural Centre even let me stay for a few more days as the rest of the team continued travelling around West Bank, and I was able to use their Wi-Fi to get most of it done, with my parents providing excellent support via Skype! I re-joined the team in Bethlehem on the night of the deadline, which would have been a fitting location in which to finish, had there been Wi-Fi at the proverbial “inn”! Unfortunately, the Wi-Fi cut out, and I missed the deadline as the next morning we left for Jordan. The disappointment of losing marks for lateness was soon forgotten in the intensity of the final night of work in Jordan, where I used the extra time to try and perfect my work. I was ably supported by the team, as Alex Skinner helped type up transcripts and Mesh worked 8 hours straight on my references, and everyone else took turns to give me words of encouragement. I dosed up on strong Arabic coffee and sat trembling from the lack of sleep, cutting down my word count, right up until the last minute.
At the end of it all, I crashed into a 13-hour sleep. I awoke with a huge weight off my shoulders and a burning desire to get back to the football. The team welcomed me back with open arms and I was able to enjoy the rest of our adventure knowing that somehow I had managed to write a dissertation and still be part of an incredible journey. The sacrifices had been worth it, and the experiences and team dynamic had inspired me to write what I felt was a fantastic dissertation. In the end, I knew I’d made the right choice, and it’s a choice I will never regret.
The month that followed was one of the most intense and exciting experiences of my life, and truly challenged the limits of my mental and physical capabilities. I had the least sleep of any of the team, with many a late night spent typing away whilst others slept. I even tried to get work done on bus journeys, but often the deep team debates or the regular eruptions of team banter that surrounded me would prove too tempting to ignore. As the team dynamic got steadily stronger it became difficult to detach myself from these debates and bonding sessions, which nevertheless provided a welcome relief from much academic head-scratching!
As the deadline approached menacingly, I found myself having to miss matches and activities to try and get it finished. Luckily, the team were very understanding, and our hosts were also incredibly helpful on every step of the way. For example, in Nablus our hosts at the Yafa Cultural Centre even let me stay for a few more days as the rest of the team continued travelling around West Bank, and I was able to use their Wi-Fi to get most of it done, with my parents providing excellent support via Skype! I re-joined the team in Bethlehem on the night of the deadline, which would have been a fitting location in which to finish, had there been Wi-Fi at the proverbial “inn”! Unfortunately, the Wi-Fi cut out, and I missed the deadline as the next morning we left for Jordan. The disappointment of losing marks for lateness was soon forgotten in the intensity of the final night of work in Jordan, where I used the extra time to try and perfect my work. I was ably supported by the team, as Alex Skinner helped type up transcripts and Mesh worked 8 hours straight on my references, and everyone else took turns to give me words of encouragement. I dosed up on strong Arabic coffee and sat trembling from the lack of sleep, cutting down my word count, right up until the last minute.
At the end of it all, I crashed into a 13-hour sleep. I awoke with a huge weight off my shoulders and a burning desire to get back to the football. The team welcomed me back with open arms and I was able to enjoy the rest of our adventure knowing that somehow I had managed to write a dissertation and still be part of an incredible journey. The sacrifices had been worth it, and the experiences and team dynamic had inspired me to write what I felt was a fantastic dissertation. In the end, I knew I’d made the right choice, and it’s a choice I will never regret.
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