Music and Culture as a Vehicle of Resistance

Ramzi Aburedwan speaking to Charles Zerner, a professor
from Sarah Lawrence College. 

 The dissonance between the diet of stereotypes and lies that Americans are fed  and the reality on the ground here in Palestine troubles me to the point that I have had so much trouble sleeping here. While I had a pretty good idea about what the Israeli Occupation was, I now realize just how ignorant we Americans really are and how much is hidden from us through media representations or the complete invisibility of Palestinian life in any news coverage. In the five days I have been here in Israel and Palestine, I have heard stories of what the misery of occupation has meant for Palestinians on a daily basis. And all this is designed and deliberately concealed from Americans and particularly  from the millions of tourists who come to Jerusalem each year the visit the holy sites in this city. Quite simply, under the guise of "Israeli security," Palestinians are denied of their basic human rights. When I interviewed Palestinian writer and lawyer and founder of the Al Haq human rights organization,  Raja Shehadeh, he described the phenomenon of how Israel manages its self-image of being a so-called democracy by not allowing people to see what it is doing in the occupied territories. The image of Palestine and Palestinians as being violent, unwelcoming,  or America-hating couldn't be further from the truth. The people we have met in Palestine have embodied not only the spirit of resilience I was looking for-- but they are the most dignified and humane people I have ever encountered. For a wonderful account of how Palestinian national territory is being eroded and the destruction to the environment, I highly recommend Shehadeh's Palestinian Walks: Notes on a Vanishing Landscape. This nonfiction book describes the ways that Israeli settlements are systematically changing the landscape and culture of Palestine ---and eroding Palestinian sovereign territory on a daily basis.

Al Kamandjati poster showing Ramzi as a nine year old boy, and then as a young man playing viola.

On our second day here we went to Ramallah where we spent the early part of the day at the Al Kamandjati Music School ://www.alkamandjati.org/ . The school is located in a small but beautiful old house which was donated by a local Ramallah family who heard about the work of the school's founder, Ramzi Aburedwan. While the school is small, it has great acoustics due to its domed ceilings; at the school they recently renovated the building to accommodate more useable space for classes which serve local students in the West Bank (mostly Ramallah) and kids who come for summer camps. The more remarkable thing about this school, however, is the story of it's founder. Ramzi was born into one of Palestine's approximately 30 refugee camps which were the result of Palestinian displacement when the state of Israel was created in 1948 and hundreds of thousands of Palestinians fled violence or were forced from their homes. Ramzi was born in the al Amari refugee camp which  is inside the city of Ramallah. And, like thousands of other Palestinian refugees, Ramzi grew up in poverty and in very crowded living conditions. Palestine's refugee camps are both a serious reminder of both the 1948 displacement of Palestinians and Israel's continued attempt to deny the rights of Palestinians both in  historical and contemporary terms; Israel does not teach or allow anyone to teach about the 1948 Nakba in schools, and thus, the very fact of these refugee camps is a kind of denial inside Israel. The refugee camps symbolize the Nakba (the catastrophe of 1948 when Israel declared itself a state and hundreds of thousands of Palestinians fled or were forced out of their homes through violence and terror).

The plaque/schedule of classes at Al Kamandjati Music School. 

Ramzi told us the story of how he came to music and to start Al Kamandjati. Ramziwas born in Bethlehem, but his family lost their home after the 1967 war and the subsequent occupation of the West Bank. He grew up very poor in the al Amari refugee camp (a squalid, overcrowded slum that is home to approximately three thousand refugees who were displaced in both 1948 and 1967---pictures forthcoming) just outside the West Bank city of Ramalllah. To help his family, Ramzi used to clean the garden of a local Ramallah woman and also deliver newspapers from 4-7 am. Unbeknownst to him, his grandfather was putting aside the money Ramzi was making to help his family, for Ramzi's future education. At the age of nine, Ramzi was one among many thousands of school-age children who was politically awakened during the first Intifada (Paletstinian uprising)  in 1987. Like other Palestinian children, he confronted Israeli Defense Forces (IDF)  tanks that rolled into refugee camps and shot tear gas, rubber bullets, and live ammunition at protestors. These military incursions went all over the West Bank towns and villages and the Gaza strip--the Intifada was a coordinated effort to confront Israeli occupation through shop closures and withholding of taxes to protest the continued Israeli occupation and to move the stalled negotiations. Ramzi was only nine at the time of the Intifada, but like many boys his age, particularly in the refugee camps, he threw stones at tanks to protest the military incursions into their homes and cities.

We visited the refugee camp where he grew up, and I can tell you it was the equivalent of the worst slums you can imagine. People in camps like Amari (we visited two others as well) live in really crowded  conditions, with very little ventilation, poor or no sanitation, and no heating. The refugee camps which started in 1948 as makeshift tent camps, are now cement brick structures, and there is no building codes. People build to accomdate their families, and because they've been protected under international refugee status, they hope to one day return to their original homes. These camps, however, have become more destitute since Israel no longer allows Palestinians work permits to work inside Israel (many of these men were formerly in the construction trades) and now, there is little work. Because they are poor, and have no place to go, the refugee camps are a kind of limbo. Some people leave and others stay both out of principle or because they can't afford to live anywhere else. There are some 22 refugee camps in the West Bank and Gaza as well as camps in Syria, Lebanon, Jordan.

Back to Ramzi, though. Shortly after the the first intifada, the Palestinian uprising, a journalist snapped a picture of him standing in the refugee camp throwing a stone at an Israeli tank invading the refugee camp where he lived. the journalist, a rather responsible human being, chose to find someone in a neighboring house adjacent to the camp to help him identify the boy. The woman was the person Ramzi had done some yard work for. She told the journalist that he was an intelligent young boy named Ramzi. Some time later, that same woman's relative came from Jordan to do a musical  performance in Ramallah. She suggested that his group not only perform for the elites of the city, but that they should also go to the refugee camps and perform and offer some kind of workshop for kids. The woman's relative agreed and Ramzi came to hear the group perform at the Al Bira center, and he said, "after two days of listening, I was swimming in the sea of music."

An American Ph.D. graduate student whose research is in ethnomusicology
and the role of music in the occupation. She is working at Al Kamandjati. 

Ramzi told us how profoundly he was affected by the music and how much he realized that the life of refugee children was without beauty--without gardens, art, playgrounds, ways to express themselves in a harsh climate of poverty, and hopelessness. The experience of hearing music and watching musicians touch their instruments touched Ramzi deeply. He realized how much music reached into the traumatized souls of the children living under occupation and gave them food for their hungry souls. Some years later, he was given a scholarship to study music in France, and after he returned to Palestine in 2000,  he witnessed the devastation of the Second Intifada-- with hundreds of days of curfews, roadblocks, and the confinement of people to the camps for days on end. It was then that he dreamed of bringing music to refugee children and training them to play music. Since 2002, Ramzi had been working to start the Al Kamandjati Music School (he learned to play viola and thus named the school after the word violinist). The school now serves students from around the West Bank (it is an NGO) offering classes, performances, composition courses, and also touring around Palestine to have students play for communities and refugee camps. The music is both Western classical and Arabic influcenced. Ramzi's school  receives support from individual musicians, schools, and some grants from European countries. They also receive donations of instruments and have guest teachers and performers from Europe. They asked us to lobby people to send instruments to his school.

But Ramzi says, the struggles he has to bring and foster culture for Palestinian children is part of the larger struggle against occupation. "Under Israeli occupation," Ramzi says, "Palestinians are not allowed to practice their culture. We are not allowed to have Arab musicians and poets and performers from the Arab world come and visit and play for us. Israelis will not grant them permits to come to Palestine to perform. For sixty years, we have been isolated from culture, music, etc, in the Arab world and in a sense, we are making up for so much with so little. My goal is to bring the beauty of music to the camps, to remind Palestinians of their heritage and their musical traditions, and to help young people find relief from the suffering of occupation by expressing themselves with music. But we are limited with funds, and every performance we do, every city we travel to, every camp we perform in, has to receive a permit from the Isrseli government. We cannot go to Gaza to play music. We don't want to be isolated, but the occupation has made it difficult for us to practice our culture and share it with others." Ramzi describes, for example, how numerous performances have been cancelled due to lack of permits being issued, and for example, incidents such as halls being burned at the refugee camps where the musicians were to perform.

The balcony of Al Kamandjati music school where students often perform for the community.

Ramzi and his students, for example, cannot get a permit to play in Jerusalem, where music and culture by Palestinians also is severely restricted. So you know where they performed last year? At the Qalandia checkpoint outside Ramallah that is the daily lifeline of Palestinian workers who work in East Jerusalem. The Al Kamandjati orchestra played while the lines of cars idled, while the turnstiles where Palestinians walk through and show their West Bank identification and place their hands on a magnetic machine. They played orchestral music by the side of the road to give a little beauty to those people moving through the checkpoint to go to their jobs, to Jeruasalem for permits, for those heading back to their West Bank Palestianin villages. When one IDF soldier confronted one of the musicians playing his oboe, Ramzi answered, "it's not a gun!" This has since been one of the slogans of the Al Kamandjati Music School; google  the school and listen for yourself to the amazing work of this wonderful project to resist occupation with culture!
Another project that involves music in the Palestine-Israel conflict is the Barenboim-Said Foundation which was co-founded by Daniel Barenboim and Edward Said: http://www.barenboimsaidusa.org/

o Jerusalem! (part two): Our Guide Mahmood and His Moving Story of His Committment to Jerusalem

O, Jerusalem! (part two)

Palestinian homes inside East Jerusalem have been regularly demolished and evacuated by the Israeli Defense Forces  if their inhabitant have not lived there for three months, or if they do renovations or repair without permits. This Sheikh Jarrar neighborhoodis part of a contested area of East Jerusalem where Israeli settlers are attempting to take over; they are protected by the IDF. Palestinian families were forced out by the Israelis and weekly demonstrations occur near here to protest the active policy of Palestinian home demolition and Israeli settlements. 

It is difficult to say everything I need to say. With each day here all of us are coming to understand why people like  Jimmy Carter, John Mersheimer, and someone as mainstream as NY Times columnist Thomas Friedman have used  has used the term "apartheid" to describe what is happening here in Israel with respect to the Palestinian population. You would not believe many of the things I have seen and heard here. I find it difficult to sleep at night.

Israeli Police question a young man and ask to see his East Jerusalem permit.
This is similar to the "pass" that was used in Apartheid South Africa.
East Jerusalemite Palestinians (even if born in Jerusalem) must carry this permit
at all times. If they are caught without it, or if it is expired, they will be fined,
denied future permits, or forced to leave Jerusalem. 

I am trying to write as much as I can down so that I can shareq my experiences and impressions with you, but the sheer magnitude of what I've encountered here is  for Palestinians like living in an Orwellian nightmare. I wanted to write more about what I've learned about the special and troubled relationship that Jerusalem has for Palestinians. In my last blog post, I wrote about our Palestinian tour guide Mahmood. he gave us a wonderful tour of the old city of Jerusalem, but I didn't get a chance to write much about him. Other than telling us how much he loved Jerusalem and believed  it was the best model for human coexistence and peace, he didn't tell us anything about himself until I asked. he was born in 1948 to an immigrant African father and a Palestinian mother. He was raised in Jerusalem, and was in his words, a "son Of Jerusalem". Like many other Palestinians, his family was deeply affected by the Nakba (the catastrophe) of 1948 that caused more than  600,000 Palestinians to be forced out, and displaced from their homes, and made into refugees in refugee camps within  Palestine, Lebanon, Syria,  and Jordan. Unlike many of his neighbors, Mahmood's family managed to stay in east Jerusalem after the establishment of Israel. Although Mahmood is a resident of Jerusalem, he has no passport. Like most Palestinians who are from Jerusalem, Mahmood is not allowed to become a citizen of Israel. He is a resident of this city, and although born and raised here, he like thousands of others must apply for a permit to continue to live here. many of the Palestinian Jerusalemites I have met, have sought citizenship in places like Jordan, Canada, US, simply because they have no official status as Israelis,a d because their country, Palestine, continues to be under Israeli occupation. Let me reiterate that there is a Palestine, but it is still under Iswraeli military occupation and the Israelis have never implemented the 1993 Oslo accords. Rent the new movie "Miral" and you will have a better idea of this history.

View of the Dome of the Rock from the Armenian Quarter. This is the second holiest place to Muslims but only Muslims living inside the city can regularly pray here. Palestinians living in the West Bank must seek a permit to come to Jerusalem to pray here, and they are usually denied these permits. A person living in Ramallah, Bethlehem lives only several kilometers away, but may have never been to the holiest place for their faith. 

This might seem remarkable to an American, but for the nearly 20 Jerusalemite Palestinians I have met, Jerusalem is a city they love, but with which they have an extremely complicated relationship. Mahmood told us over lunch that he came of age in Jerusalem and in 1967 he saw the Israeli army roll into his neighborhood in tanks and occupy his city. It was during this occupation, helping injured students that he was arrested. Although like many Palestinian youth of his generation he was affected by Arab nationalism and the movement for Palestinian nationalism, he was jailed for his affiliation with those political organizations that sought to free Palestine from Israeli occupation. His crime was resisting Israeli occupation; he has never used violence nor has he  advocated violence. He is by far the most gentle, peaceful person I have met here--and among Palestinians there are so many.  Like thousands of other Palestinians, he was a political prisoner. For his crime of belonging to an organization outlawed inside israel he served 17 years in an Israeli jail. He told us that he was in prison with hundreds of other Palestinian men, and it was there that he became educated, and in his words, "I am a better human being as a result of being in jail." Overthe decade and a half where he served out his jail term, Mahmoud was regukarly beaten and tortured. He told us that prison taught him how to have hope and also how to retain his humanity, and iT was there that he learned to think critically about the situation of Jerusalem and how to organize with his fellow prison mates to improve their conditions in the prison. He told us that half way through his jail term he was beaten very badly and then the next day was allowed to shower and was given clean clothes and was then sent to a room where he was sat down and presented to a representative of the French consulate. Because his father had originally been from Chad, they offered him an early release from jail in the condition that he agree to be deported and take up citizenship in another country. The representative offered him papers to go to France, Africa, or even the US. He refused, however, and thus stayed in jail for another decade. Finally, in his 16th year of his jail term, the Israelis offered to release him a year early, on the condition that he give up his residence inJerusalem. He refused, once again saying, " I am a Jerusalemite above all, and I will never leave this city." We all just about started crying, when he told us this, and he followed by telling us how proud he is of his two children one of whom was graduating from Bir Zeit university thus year. He was never able to attend university because of his imprisonment, and for him the fact that he spent a decade and a half in prison, was able to marry, have children and continue his life in his beloved Jerusalem. When I can I'll put up photos, but for now let me tell you that Mahmood is a radiant and beautiful man. Everywhere we went inJerusalem knew him and greeted him warmly. He is of course tall and has many African features which make it hard to miss him, but more than that, he is known all Jerusalem for his work in trying to fight for the rights of Jerusalemite Palestinians who have increasingly had their rights eroded.

Palestinian merchants sell their wares in the Old City. They pay taxes, but are not allowed  representation on the Jerusalem City Council. 

Although Mahmood can pray at the Dome of the Rock, one of the holiest Muslim sites in the world (second only to Mecca itself), no Palestinians from outside Jerusalem (or not a citizen of Israel) can come to Jerusalem to pray at the two most important religious locations (the Al Aqsa Mosque) Without a permit from the Israeli authorities. This permit process can take forever and for many Palestinians is one of the most humiliating aspects for them. The same permit process is required of Palestinians who are Christian and live outside Jerusalem. I met quite a few Palestinian Christians (another piece of information that many Americans don't know--that a significant population of Palestine's pre-1948 inhabitants were Christian. Many of them were made refugees in 1948, and many of them were able to flee to the west through the aid of Christian networks in the west, and in the US particular. San Francisco has a sizable Palestinian community from Ramallah which has settled there as a result of the Nakba (the 1948 catastrophe that dispossessed Palestinians of tHeir land as a result of Zionism and the declaration of Israeli state); the second wave of major Christian dispersal to the west occurred when the Israelis occupied the west bank of Palestine, which it continues today.

Oh, Jerusalem! (part one)

I have been in Jerusalem four days on a tour with a U.S. Academic organization that is introducing us to Palestinian universities and faculty and to what life under Israeli occupation is like. We are also meeting with NGOs in each city we are visiting. We have spent several days touring Jerusalem, but have also been to the occupied West Bank each day. Our days have been intense and full, and often sad and dismaying; the graciousness of the pPalestinian people in the face of occupation is truly imoressive. They are the spirit of resilience! Today is the first day ive felt the need to combat my fatigue and write. It is all so overwhelming to try to narrate what we have seen and often I am too tired and too overwhelmed to write anything. Only now this morning do I have the mental space to write about my first days here. On Sunday morning we got a tour from a local man who lives here in east Jerusalem and who is part of a network of organizations that are trying to preserve the city of Jerusalem as an international city that represents the heritage, culture,  aspirations, interests, and faiths of All peoples. Our guide,Mahmood, was born in this city and declares that is he is a human being first and Jerusalemite second.

A preschool in the Old City. The Arab population had to fight and demonstrate
to keep this area of the Old City from being razed by the Israelis. They
made a case for keeping some Palestinian schools in the Old City but
it was the result of a long fight starting in the 2000s.

We start at the gate nearest our hotel in East Jerusalem,  (it is important to know that East Jerusalem has been under Israaeli military occupation since 1967) where Mahmood points out all the things that have changed about the wall surrounding the city since its Roman, Ottoman and now Israeli control. We enter the Old City and the first thing he shows us is the Indian hospice, one of many similar places inside the old city that represent its international character, and a place where people from around the world where people came to express their faith, worship, and build places of refuge for thie pilgrims.The Indian hospice is one of many buildings, he says, which represent the international status of Jerusalem, and one of the many reasons our guide lives here. "I believe Jerusalem is a model for the world of how people live together and cultivate peace and harmony, he says. from the Damascus gate, we wind our way through the city stopping to learn about the history of the various buildings and their significance to each faith.

Garbanzo bean seller at the entry to the Damascus Gate.

But interspersed with this narrative is the story of what is happening in the Old city for Palestinians today. Since 1967 East Jerusalem has been under Israeli  occupation. What that has meant for them is a growing effort to control their movements, their housing, and the spatial parameters of every aspects of their lives. Mahmood was born in Jerusalem, and yet he like all Palestinian Jerusalemites,must have a permit to live here and must show their permit at checkpoints surrounding the city if the armed Israeli soldiers request it. What I have also learned is that manyPalestinians simply cannot live in Jerusalem. There is a concerted effort on the part of the Israeli state to minimize, erase, and what is called "de-Palestinianize" Jerusalem. Mahmood described how most Palestinian East Jerusalemites have to go through to continue living here. If a Palestinian leaves his or her home for more than three months, the israeli authorities confiscate their homes and they are given to the israeli municipality or given to settlers. We saw several settlements in the old city they are homes that formerly belonged to Palestinians but which have been occupied by Jews (often ideologically right wing American jews who see this as reclaiming the biblical lands for themselves. We also learned a great deal about the regular and systematized policy of Palestinian  home demolition  in east jerusalem. Because of crowded living conditions there, no remodeling or additions can be done without an israeli building permit. On our walking tour we met a Palestinian man whose has lived in Jerusalem continuously for hundreds of years--and yet he must apply for a permit to the Israelis to fix his plumbing. He told us that he was doing the repairs without a permit because in his small house inhabited by ten people, he absolutely needed to do these repairs. Applying for Permits to repair, remodel, make additions  to  Israeli authorities often cost thousands of dollars and are routinely denied.

The Lion's gate (facing the Mount of Olives) where the
Israeli Defense Forces entered and forcibly took East Jerusalem
and have been occupying it since 1967. 

However, if a Palestinian family builds without a permit, their entire homes are subject to fines and often  demolition. The man we spoke to had done one addition without a permit  and he was forced to demolish it once.he rebuilt it a second time and told us they can show up at any time with bulldozers. It is a waiting game. In addition to the fines for not having a permit, they are forced to pay the israelis to actually demolish their homes or they must do the demolition themselves. Our guide asked the gentleman why he was building without a permit and the man replied, "because it is my right to live in Jerusalem! I must resist the occupation!" He also told us that many of his neighbors had had their homes completely destroyed since  the 1967 occupation or routinely have their homes confiscated (they weld the doors shut) if they had stayed outside of Jerusalem for more than three months. Our guide showed us photos of several houses that had been razed during the 1967 military occupation of east jerusalem and numerous homes that have been occupied by settlers in recent years.

Our wonderful guide Mahmood and one of the other professors, Jess.

Mahmood  showed us where he lived inthe oldcity--a compound of around five or six smaller  houses that share a common courtyard. Among these families twenty people share two bathrooms. The families have applied fper a permit but because it costs and they were denied they gave up. These policies of requiring permits, routinely issuing demolition orders are part of a systematic campaign to minmize,erase, and control Palestinian life,space, movement and economics inJerusalem. Although east Jerusalemites pay plenty of taxes they no representation on the city council. Another thing you notice about the effects of Israeli occupation is that it seeks to undermine the image of Palestinians by denying them services in that city. Trash cans are hardly visible and trash is everywhere. Mahmood told us that for the entire sector of east Jerusalem, there are something like Two municipal trash collectors to serve the residents of the old city. So, guess what-- there is a lot of trash and it creates a perception which reinforces an image of Palestinians living in a ghetto which probably gets cemented in the minds of many that I cannot help seeing serves the interests of occupiers that resonAtes with an image that has been repeated overhand over in history: native Americans on reservations who sit around and drink; thE image ofdirtyjewas in Warsaw ghettoes; African americans who live in urban blight and poverty. This is segregation. I cannot say it any other way!

The  policy of home demolition is part of the occupation strategy  to try to forcePalestinian residents to leave the old city and east jerusalem by making living conditions unbearable through home demolition, economic deprivation, controlling sand confining their movement in the city, and allowing hostile settlers to move into their neighborhoods and have the protection of Israeli soldiers. Jerusalem is a beautiful city but this is the ugly underbelly of Israeli occupation that thousands of Christian pilgrims never see. This is occupation! I cannot sugarcoat it; I have seen it with my own eyes. I have heard the stories of Palestinians living under this system. I thought I understood what this was from reading books, articles,  but this--the only way to say it is how they have told us over and over again:" this is suffering, this is inhumanity; this is indignity."

This Palestinian family in the Old City has already had their home demolished by the Israelis several times. When we saw him
the owner was installing new plumbing without a permit. He knew that he might face yet another demolition by the Israelis
but said, "We have to live, and we have to resist their efforts to drive us out, to cleanse us from our homes." 

Moving Westward--Tahrir, Amman, and Arriving in Israel

I left Cairo on Thursday, but on Wednesday night after wandering Old Cairo and the long snaking area of the souk, we ended up at Tahrir Square, a place I had told Amy I absoultely had to visit. It was evening by the time we arrived there, and getting there by cab was a long drive (not by distance but by traffic). We drove through another market area where people spilled into the streets eating, drinking, ending their day by having a fresh mango juice, a lemonade with mint, or tea, and where could also hear the evening call to prayer. The cab driver dropped us a few blocks from Tahrir Square, and immediately one could feel the air of freedom. I'm serious. There was a kind of physical openness to the square, but also the idea that it was here that hundreds of thousands had gathered to beat back a forty year dictatorship that had literally dominated the streets, despite the large population of Cairenes. There were still police about (in their summer white uniforms) but apparently far fewer with guns. There were also a few barriers about, especially near the American embassy, and a few other key important embassies. Amy took me through the old campus of the Ameircan University in Cairo, where had to show our id and go through a metal detector. Eventually we ended up at one of the fancy hotels, where we deposited my postcards (Amy assured me that the postcards had a better chance if they started there). Tahrir was alive with energy. There were hundreds standing in teh square demonstrating, although it was not clear to Amy or what they were demonstrating about. People seemed to be calling for the arrest of more officials from the Mubarak government. There were Egyptian flags everywhere, as well as graffitti everywhere along the side streets that proclaimed, "Proud to Be Egyptian," "Hold Your Head High Egypt," "Freedom for Egypt." There were also merchants in the streets selling t-shirts and paraphenelia such as Egyptian flags. The tshirts read, "January 25, 2011-- Freedom for Egypt" or "Egyptian Revolution, January 25th 2011." The mood was festive for sure, even despite some tension in the air. There were signs of the military here and there, but Amy assured me that it was much less than before. It was, quite frankly, an exciting thing to be there, to feel the air of freedom all around me. It was not lost on me what happened there in those days and weeks, and, it seems, the Cairenes feel that they took their country back and can now hold their heads high. It isn't very often that one sees a revolution in one's life. It isn't very often that one can be close to the people who have made it happen. What lies ahead is still daunting for them. But seeing the Egyptian museum lit up and the Egyptian flag waving proudly over it, that was something.

I've been unable to access the internet due to my crappy new ipad that doesn't work so I'm now in a hotel in Tel Aviv using the lobby computer to write  few things before I've completely left Cairo behind and entered a different world here in Israel (and soon, later this morning) the West Bank where I'm hoping to meet with a Palestinian writer. I felt a sadness leaving Cairo yesterday afternoon. I had a wonderful time with my friend Amy--who I've always adored but have never spent that much time with. Being with a friend in  foreign country open veins of knowing and conversation about lives broken apart by pain can find their way up into your throat and eyes in a way they don't in everyday life. So, I was sad to be leaving and also expecting and anxious about this leg of my journey. For me, coming to Israel and Palestine is full of anticipation. Here I'll confront and find comfort in many things.

I am writing this blog entry retroactively now and want to keep the blog in some kind of chronological order. I arrived in Amman,Jordan on thursday afternoon and had a five hour layover in Jordan even though it is a short 45 minute flight from A Amman to Tel Aviv. The airport was a fascinating micro-representation of all that represents the many complex sides of this region. The airport was a mix of business travellers, Muslim pilgrims heading to Saudi Arabia to perform the hajj (the muslim pilgrimage) and people heading to Israel from other destinations. Many of the Muslim pilgrims were dressed modestly with women in hijabs or scarves and many older men wearing a traditional white outfit that almost resembles a large white Bath towel (they were not wearing any shirts). Making the hajj is one of the most important thnings a Muslim can do to both fulfill their obligations as a muslim, but it isnot cheap. People save their whole ljves to go there; this particular group was from Turkey. There were many more older men and women and a few younger people who were clearly helping them. There was also a several people wiTh small chikdRen including a woman dressed in a niqab and wearing high heels. Sitting across from me were two Buddhist monks from Sri Lanka dosed in deep burgundy robes (also with no shirts) who were on their way to Jerusalem to give aa two day seminar on Buddhism. One of them was quite friendly with me and invited me to come to Sri Lanka. By the time I arrived in tel aviv it was nearly 11 pm. I was very nervous about being questioned at the airport because of my Arab sounding name and a because I had just come from Egypt. I had decided not to tell them anything about going to east Jerusalem or Palestine and I told them I was traveling as a tourist. The Israeli passport control asked me where my parents were born and asked me to confirm their names. I had expected to be questioned based on the experiences I heard from several of last year's participants who were interrogated for several hours as well as Hasmig's experience (our son Kyle's teacher who accompanied my husband and 13 of our son's classmates to israel and Palestine in march of this year. I did not tell the israelis passport control at the airport that I was going to Palestine.

Where to begin? I arrived in tel aviv on Thursday night at 11pm. I found a cab at the airport and as soon as I got in a jovial Israeli cab driver welcomed me. The radio was turned upload and the commentary on the radio was about Obama's recent speech in which he addressed the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Although I had nit heard the whole speech I gsthered the gist of it that Obama was calling for pre-1967 boundaries. Clearly, the cab driver was not happy about that and without assumption, he said rather dismissively "pew 0bama.". I did not want to engage with him both because I was tired and because I knew I already disagreed with him. He took me to my hotel and I found my way into the hotel room and decided to go out for a falafel on the same street. I had to get cash and so walked to a bank nearby. But the ATM machine ate my card! So I immediately had to withdraw money on my credit card! I went to a falafel stand near the hotel. Waiting in line was an Israeli police woman! I knew by the look of the man behind the counter that he was palestinian. I also heard him speaking Arabic twosome older Palestinians sitting outside in front. He asked me wherein was from and I told him USA. He said "i like americans, where are you from?" to simplify things, I pretty much tell people I am from San francisco. He said he would like to go there, but since 9/11 he hasnt been able to get a visa. I told him that I knew it was hard for Arabs, but especially Palestinians. He asked me if I just arrived from America and I said no, that I had just been in Cairo, Egypt, and told him what an exciting time it had been for me to be there. He immediately commented in a negative tone, "yes, but those Egyptians, they are so uneducated, they don't know how to manage things and they have too many children." Right away I for the sense of how some see Egypt as the inferior African Arab brothern and I surmised that he was a Christian. I asked him outright and he confirmed it.

The next morning I woke up early to catch a cab to the Tel Aviv bus station so I could take a bus to Jerusalem where I would meet with the faculty seminar with which I would be spending the next ten days ( a group of ten U.S.-based academics who were selected by the Palestinian American Research Center to participate in an academic seminar to learn more about situation of Palestinians living under Israeli occupation). Although we would be based in Israel, we would be travelling throughout the country to learn more about the occupation and the situation of the Palestinian territories under Israeli military occupation.
The bus ride to Tel Aviv was scarey to me. I sat on a bus that held more than 20 Israeli soldiers (all under the age of 22) who were in uniform and most of whom carried guns. The sheer militarization of Israeli society (in big cities particularly) is something to behold. You can't help be struck by it, and you can't help, or at least I can't, notice that this is a sign of something larger and more insidious. I can't say it any other way.

As soon as I arrived in Jerusalem, I understood why. At the bus station, I was greeted by a man who asked me if I needed a cab. Yes, I told him. He started to reach for my bag, when another man, intercepted him and tried to take the cab fare. They began speaking in Hebrew and the first man who greeted me asked, "where are you going?" I told him, Sultan Suleiman Street, the Golden Walls Hotel. The second man spoke back to him and looked puzzled. The first man then stated, "You're going to East Jerusalem?" I told him yes. He walked me to his car, and as I got into the back seat, he told me, "that man wanted to take my fare, but as soon as he found out you were going to East Jerusalem, he said he wouldn't go there, that the Arabs were too scary." I knew immediately he was Palestinian. I asked him a few questions, and he told me that many Israeli Jewish cab drivers won't take people to East Jerusalem because they're scared or because they think they'll be killed. "Is that true?" I asked somewhat naively. "Of course not," he said gently. But you have to know that that is what they are told to believe, what they want to belive." I began to ask him about himself. He told me that he was born and raised in Jerusalem but that his family lost his home in 1948 and that he now lived outside the city. He took me on a spontaneous tour of the areas on the way to East Jerusalem and told me what happened here in 1967 when the Israelis occupied the city including East Jerusalem and transformed the city he knew. He pointed out where the YMCA had formally been (a place he had worked until 1967) and what was now a hotel, and several other buildings that had been confiscated by the Israeli army and had now become a police station. It was, needless to say, the beginning of my tour of Israel and Palestine.

Culture, Commerce and Moved by a Mosque

Today was my last full day in Cairo and I had a marvelous time with Amy exploring the souk, shopping for souvenirs, and going to the Al Azhar Mosque. I'm going to start this blog entry by telling you how frustrated I am with my technology (and my skills)! I bought a ipad2 just for the occasion of this trip and haven't been able to use it since I've arrived in Cairo. Something is very wrong and haven't been able how to use it. I bought it because I was warned that if I take my computer to Israel it could be checked, or worse yet, wiped clean. I didn't want that; I have a lot of documents relating to my interests in the Middle East, to the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict, and as many of you have heard from Craig's own experience going to Israel with Kyle's high school teacher born in the UAE and of Armenian background, I'm likely to be a hold up at the airport in Tel Aviv. I expect it. I expected and that's why I bought an ipad, and here I am borrowing my friend's computer in Cairo to write these entries. I have been using my iphone to take photos and upload photos to facebook, but I don't quite know how to do it the photos on this blog--so if you want to see photos, you could go to my facebook page. In any case, I leave for Israel tomorrow, and I'm a bit sad about leaving Cairo so soon. It's been a quick, rich trip, full of impressions and not much else. I've tried to write those impressions, observations here, but I confess what does a traveller who doesn't speak Arabic, who is here for only five days really know? Not much, really. It's hard not to be overwhelmed by what I see, too. There is much that is very different and very new to me--and much that defies the senses one has for the way we function in the U.S. context. But I'm glad to have this opportunity here.

I will tell you this--my tailbone and thighs still hurt from the camel ride, and that's stayed with me since Monday! Today, Amy and I spent the day shopping. First, we went to a lovely store in her neighborhood, Maadi, that sells beautiful handmade cotton scarves and artwork that is both traditional and a bit uniquely modern. We also went to a Bedouin store where they sell traditional handicrafts from the Bedouin tribes of Egypt. In some stores, you get the sense that people are immediately going to take advantage of you because you're obviously a Western tourist--but I've been lucky. Amy speaks Arabic and she's not shy about asking for a lower price, and/or challenging someone who she thinks is overcharging. I couldn't have had the same experience without her knowledge and language skills--which is one of the reasons I've become even more convinced that language acquisition is essential for Americans. So many transactions in culture, politics, war, even, might be made easier if Americans were more knowledgeable about other people's culture and the way their language can and does figure into any transaction.

Even though there is a real desperation about the economic conditions now--because of the sudden decline in tourist dollars since January 25th, the Egyptians are tough. They are hanging in there, and yes, they strike me as incredibly resilient (yes, folks there is my word again). When we went to the Khan-e Khalili, the enormous sprawling souk (market) that weaves in and out of buildings, alleys, and where everything, I mean everything is sold (brass, silver, spices, cotton scarves, tablecloths, flags, waterpipes, melons, books, paper, prayer beads, evil eye protectors, hands of fatima, flags of Egypt, tshirts celebrating the revolution, halal meats, fruits, traditional handicrafts), it was obvious how hard these months have been for people here. We saw very few tourists besides ourselves in the souk. Mostly, it was local Egyptians and lots and lots of empty space in which to move, which, Amy assures me, isn't normal. People were buying, selling, haggling, begging, hawking, and, despite their obvious challenge in making adequate sales these days, seemed remarkably optimistic. But it was also obvious that there is still much desperation.

I'm guessing the effects of the January 25, 2011 revolution have not worn off just yet! The souk is a wonderful scene--full of life--and it has such a different feel than commerce, sales, and merchants than in the U.S.--the only thing that comes close (and that is such a woefully inadequate comparison) is the flea market. I think of commerce in the U.S. as so much more sterile and uncolorful. There isn't some of the annoying haggling, yes, but there is also the experience of human exchange that I loved. The souk is embedded in Cairo's blood. I have read about it in literature (yes, Naguib Mahfouz for sure, but also in travel narratives by Western travellers and Persian ones too). I had also heard from my graduate school friends about the souk, the many layers of this part of the city that wind their way through mosques and masouleums, and where cats and people live together in the dust and heat and create something that is marvelous and alive. Men (and it is mostly male merchants) sit outside their tiny stores, trying to engage sellers (and especially conspicuous tourist-looking types like me (Amy isn't a tourist, but a local ex-pat)), and encouraging you to come in and examine their wares. Once you buy one thing, you can feel that you've both made their day, and also incited the other surrounding merchants to press you a little more. I became very adept at shaking my head and saying, "la"(the word for no), or "la, shokran"--- but it is very very hard to say no. There are a lot of poor people. I don't mean that in a condescending way. But the truth is, there is poverty here in more pronounced and concentrated ways. And you can see how much this is the edifice of the country that the January 25th revolution is attempting to topple. Because on the other side of this poverty is a people who are ripe for change, needing change, and so amazingly resilient, but also responding to the manmade conditions of poverty--which are by and large the product of a repressive, corrupt regime.While Hosni and Suzanne Mubarak might be in jail (or hospital) along with their sons, they are the tip of the iceberg. How they'll change this edifice, isn't clear to me.

At one point we went to the cafe that Naguib Mahfouz allegedly frequented. We had a cup of tea with mint (Eyyptian style) and that was lovely. We did get a little frustrated with the hawkers and beggars who came through, insisting that we look at their wallets and beads. Sometimes they put it right up next to you and tell you, "look Madame, just look, no buy." There were small children selling things too such as small packets of tissues, or just looking for a small donation of one Egyptian pound. At one point a man selling wallets had my attention and Amy told me not to engage with him. He was pushy and unrelenting. She wasn't being mean, but she could see how they were working me. My indecision, my feeling sorry for them, my sense of how I was viewed as wealthy, someone with money to spend in their country. It's difficult not to feel you're being viewed a certain way too, and there is that sense in which language, and Amy's language skills became the best defense for holding them at bay and not letting us take over our experience of trying to enjoy just being there without having to buy stuff.

In addition to moving through the colorful souk, we went to the Fatimid period Al Azhar Mosque. It is an absolutely beautiful mosque with a big courtyard made from marble and when you enter there you feel the holiness pull you in. There are people lounging, praying, reading their Korans. There are people from other Islamic countries studying there too. We saw a handful of what seemed to be Indonesian and Malaysian men there. We put on our headscarves and checked our shoes at the door. We were greeted by a young man who wanted to tell us about the mosque and took us over to the table where history of this mosque to Amy in Arabic while I quietly pretended to listen, but really I was drawn to the idea of prayer just then. I became overtaken by the desire to sit and pray for Kyle, to feel this holy place wash over me, to watch as people performed the Muslim prayer in a rhhymic meditation that I sometimes wish I just knew how to do. Not because I am Muslim or religious, but because sometimes I can feel how small I am and how much I need the comfort of something bigger with which to connect my life, my spirit. Instead, I just let my sorrow wash over me and sat down on the red carpet thinking how much I wished Kyle were just with me taking in all this. I said the Kaddish for Kyle facing east toward Mecca and then let myself weep just a little and left one of the stones I brought for him at the base of one of the columns.This is a day I will never forget. Thank you, Amy. Thank you, Cairo.

What We Don't Know --Hijab, Headcovers and the Muslim World

I would be remiss if I didn't write a little about the experience of being in Cairo as a Western woman. Back home in the U.S. I find myself defending my Muslim students against the Islam-bashing that is so pervasive in the media, in the context of daily U.S. news stories, and in the perceptions and misperceptions that Americans have generally about Islam and the Muslim world. This semester I had three women in my literature class who wore their hear covered in a head-scarf (what's known in the Arab/Iranian world as a "hijab"). Those young women (Palestinian-American, Iranian-American, and Pakistani-American) all elect to cover their hair at of an act of choice and to express their devotion to their faith. I know they encounter rude comments, glaring looks, and at times outright hostility. They've told me. One woman told me she was unsure about speaking up in class because she is aware of how people perceive her as a Muslim woman--negatively. I've done my uttmost in my class to find ways to help people reflect and become more respectful of religious differences, particularly Muslim women who choose to visibibly identify themselves. The rhetoric that is "Islam bashing" in the U.S. is potent and I found myself very disturbed last weekend when I was in New York City for a conference on "Poetries of the Islamic World" and as I approached my hotel (which was right across from the Ground Zero site of the 9/11 bombings) and saw a woman with an enormous American flag, with budges and buttons denouncing Islam, and holding a sign reading "All I ever needed to know about Islam I learned on 9/11." Being here, the fact is, I realize, I know very little. I have only a studied and minimal understanding of Islam, but being here in Cairo, a huge North African country (yes, I am in Africa), where Islam is part of daily life, makes me realize how woefully ignorant Americans are about this religion and its practice and cultural influences in the daily lives of billions of people all around the globe.

Yesterday, when Amy and I went to the Coptic Museum, we took the metro, and we sat in the "women's car." To an American, this might have seemed a form a segregation, but hearing my friend Amy speak, I understood it to be a welcome function of women's desire to be free from harassment by men, and to also have a space that respects the autonomy of women. Amy says she likes riding in the women's car for those obvious reasons (as a Western woman, you're more prone to being verbally engaged in what are unwelcome ways by men and yes, you stand out here) but also because it's a different space of life. I was struck by how many women wear the veil here and it is by no means obligatory. At least in the parts of Cairo I've been in, 75-80 percent of women veil by choice. This is in stark contrast to a place like Iran where veiling is mandatory and women probably (at least a large percentage of them, and especially the young ones) would give anything to leave their veils behind. Here, women choose to veil. Amy says that it is partly fashion, partly conforming, and partly an outgrowth of women's desire not to be bothered by men. The women here are in all kinds of states of veiling --from colorful headscarves that are meticulously wrapped around their heads, layered and pinned, and matching colors they are wearing; women with very tight clothing and high heels wearing headscarves and makeup; and their also a fair number of women wearing the niqab, the all black which covers the entire face except for a few slits around the eyes. We were by far among a handful of women on the metro car for women NOT wearing a headscarf. Even younger women, ages 17-30 are wearing headscarves. Amy's view of it is that it is ultimately not piety, but practicality that has made it the norm for most women. But the headscarves are colorful, and sometimes seeing them looking at me in a kind of scrutinizning way, makes me understand how some of my Muslim students at San Jose State feel. These women, even in the 80+ degree heat seem to be comfortable and accustomed to the veil, and it obviously provides some measure of social comfort. Amy also observed that the niqab has become more prevalent among women who have lived in the Gulf States, and who also are among poor classes and might sell stuff on the metro (hairclips, eyebrow pencils, stockings) or are simply begging for money. The niqab provides a kind of anonymity and might, in a way, both express a kind of uber-piety, or simply the perception of piety (which might go further with begging).

In any case, I found myself unable to take my eyes off these women. The veil does something---it covers yes, but it also reveals. Their faces are so much more prominent, and as such, their eyes meet yours. You smile or they smile. They look at you with that sort of gaze that attempts to read you in all your exposedness.
Their voices on the metro were animated and engaging, and yes, far from docile. Two of them on the street commented and Amy, who speaks Arabic, replied back, "salaam alekum," and then they were taken aback that she could understand them. "Oh she speaks Arabic," one of them said. The merchants, desperate for shoppers and commerce look at you too. "Madame, you speak French?" "Madame, come and see my things, just come in a see my shop." I can see why some people find the headveil a comfort. It renders you less visible, less foreign, more a part of what is here.

I wanted to take pictures of the women in the metro car, but you feel as if you're invading their space, commodifying them in their own turf. I know a little about that western gaze and I don't want to fall into it. But it is important to see this. To see women choosing the veil, choosing to employ all its many significations without the assumed oppression that we in the U.S. immediately assume it is. And for this I am grateful to my many Muslim students--for teaching me that their choice to wear it, or not to wear it, is a personal decision.
I am humbled by being here. I truly am.

Post-Revolutionary Egypt and the Difficulties of Becoming a New Nation?

It's only my third day in Cairo, but already I have a pretty good idea of how remarkably resilient the Egyptian  people are. For nearly thirty (plus) years Hosni Mubarak has governed this country with an iron hand, and evidence of his people self-serving rule seems to be in so many ways. I don't know what life for Egyptians was like, but what people tell me is how much the police abused their power, and how fearful they made people. There are still plenty of police around where I've been--in their summer white uniforms, but apparently, few are carrying guns anymore. I get the sense of what a pyschological lift that is---to feel a kind of freedom that was not present before. But there is also a palpable sense of anticipation about what will happen next. Although Egypt will hold elections in September, and after that a new constitution will be drafted, in the interim there is a real anxiety about the economics of everyday life--the very thing that drove many to protest day after day in those fateful days in January and February--and yet, that is the thing that has yet to be addressed. I've spent the last two days doing typically touristic things: going to Giza to visit the Great Pyrmids of Pharonic Egypt (and, of course, the Sphinx) and then today going to the Coptic neighborhood of Cairo where all the historic churches and the Coptic Museum are. In both cases, I could see that I was among only a handful of tourists in both places. And that is bad for Egyptians in the current moment--since their economic conditions were already bad before January 25th--and now they're in many cases worse. It's a bit of an irony that the very thing that gave Egyptians hope and a sense of taking back power--Tahrir Square and the sense of unity that gripped the nation in those days an weeks that led to the resignation of Mubarak--- is now the thing that has driven tourism to an all-time low. Tourism is a big source of Egypt's economy and without it, Egyptians are feeling the sting. I coulds see how much more aggressive some of the sellers, merchants (what seems to be called "touts" in the guidebooks) were out by the Pyramids. It was difficult to turn them down when they wanted to sell me stuff, and yet, after a while I resented some of their pushiness when I just wanted to have the experience of the Pyramids in peace.

It was really nice to ride the camel up to the Pyramid, but it probably wasn't something I would have chosen to do on my own. It was the cab driver Emad who took me out there who suggested it. I think he was trying to help his buddies out---to get a customer because things have been so incredibly scant when it comes to tourism. I hope you'll all consider coming. It's been great for me so far, and Egyptians are warm and welcoming, and I can see there is a bit of anxiety for them about the future. The same camel stables were used on one of the days after the revolution started to try to disperse the crowds at Tahrir Square. Mubarak or one of his lackies problably enlisted these horse and camel stable owners who operate right around the Pyramids to come and disrupt the demonstrations at Tahrir Square. I remember seeing them on TV and wondering who are these guys? Now, I know. Amy says they were upset about the events of Tahrir Square since it helped shut down tourism temporarily and so, someone paid these guys to ride into Tahrir Square for a bag of groceries or a hundred Egyptian pounds and create a little chaos. THis is how politics goes---it pits people against each other who have the most in common'; it divides people's immediate interests with their long-term interests, or the long-term interests of a much bigger group. So, when I was out at the Pyramids yesterday, I could see how hard they were working to get my Egyptian pounds. Offering me things to drink, doing a show of the ancient aromatherapy perfume shop at the place where I started my tour, or finally walking me through the Papyrus museum and trying to get me to buy a painting or two. I admit it, I was suckered. I felt a kind of deep empathy for these people. I wanted them to know that I was here to honor them, to honor Tahrir Square, and also that I wasn't afraid to come here, amidst the tumult. I enjoyed seeing the Giza Pyramids, all nine of them, and loved seeing the Sphinx, even though there was a part of me that felt a kind of sadness at seeing how something some ancient and enduring has been a little bit of a casaulty of Mubarak's policies. It's hard not to be a bit put off by the large quantity of garbage and pollution that surorunds these incredible monuments, and also to continually tie it back to the idea that there was a way in which Egyptians have had to struggle to survive and that their government has abused them, stolen from them, and everything seems a casualty of this kind of self-interest rather than a more collective sense in which resources could be dedicated to the whole of Egypt---. But even with my frustration with the touts, the aggressive need of men and small boys to sell souvenirs, to get tourists to ride their camels and horses, I felt a kind of appreciation for what they were doing. I enjoyed it, even while it exhausted me to so much poverty.

Today, I felt the tension in another way. I went to the Coptic neighborhood where the Coptic Museum was. There was a heavy police presence there because of the sectarian violence that took place here about ten days ago. According to accounts I read in the paper, the incident was started by a rumor of a Christian woman who wanted to convert but was being held in a Coptic Church. NOw, I want to emphasize rumor, because so far, I haven't seen any evidence of anything other than that. But even without knowing all the circumstances, I can tell you this is an incident that was designed to sow division--and that's what Mubarak and his thugs have the most to gain from: division. It's hard not to think of the rumors that were spread after American reconstruction and which were used to incite violence against Black people by white people. Whenver there is change, whenever there is power to lose or power to be gained, people use a strategy of sowing division and violence in order to destroy a moment of real transformation. I'm glad the cops were surrounding the Coptic Museum, because the Museum houses this marvelous collection of artifacts, textiles, archeaological ruins from the early Coptic Churches of Egyptian from the 3, 4, and 5th centuries, and it's opened my eyes to the marvels of the ancient world again. I'm struck by how much people were able to live together and how much different religions and communities influenced each other. The churches are beautiful and old--with glorious artwork, arches, and the endlessly repeating patterns you see in mosques and the architectural wonders of the Middle East. The Coptic Museum contained many beautiful relics from the early Christian monasteries that dotted the Nile--Bawit, St. Catherine's, St. Jeremiah's. All these places were places of early Christian devotion and many of the gnostics lived and worshipped here. I saw many beautiful stone carvings from the cornices of buildings, wood carvings, and early wall paintings with marvelous patterns. I couldn't take pictures, so mostly I tried to take it all in and I took pictures of the building itself. It's a beautiful museum and newly renovated, so well worth visiting. The Coptic Church that Amy and I visited was also beautiful and contained many features of early mosques--lots of arches, a marble "pulpit" in the center of the church, and the pews made of beautiful wood. I lit a candle for Kyle there and dropped one of the notes I'd saved from him in the donation box ("God lives in the connection between us"). I sat for a few minutes with Amy before we left to explore the area around the church. Unfortunately, by the time we got to the synagogue it was closed, but hopefully we'll return tomorrow.

Resilience in Cairo---The first leg of my journey

Je suis arrive!

After a long flight to England and at then a four-hour trip from London, I made it to Cairo, Egypt! The flight was was uneventful which makes for good overseas napping. When I arrived I was greeted at the airport by a driver holding a sign with my name. Believe it or not, that was a new thing to arrive to a busy airport in North Africa, and to see the throng of people--Africans, Arabs, people returning from journeys far away (Europe) or many who looked like they had returned from a pilgrimage (the Hajj) in Saudi Arabia--many of them dressed in white, and women and men covered in lots of cloth long flowing clothes (jabalya?). After such a long trip, I was grateful to be greeted by the driver Mohammad, who spoke a little English and helped me navigate the busy airport terminal. We found the car right away and headed down the highway through what clearly was the night desert. The highway was busy, and yes, a little scary. I had heard about driving here, but it was a combination of impatient, hurried drivers and a less clearly marked lane system. Drivers seem to drive too fast and encroach on each other's space. Mohammad complained of how bad Cairo drivers were--how they didn't signal, how fast they drove, and how pushy they are, and shortly thereafter one driver clipped the front right side of his Toyota highlander with his small little BMW going at least 90 kilometers an hour. Mohammad had to flag the driver down and made him pullover. The man driving the other car, seemed young and hip, could have easily been from Berkeley, and the two men began yelling in Arabic. There was never any insurance information exchanged, but rather, a little verbal sparring. The driver of the other car apologized to me in his perfect English, and then the two shook hands and left each other smiling. Mohammad then said to me, "see how these people drive, they drive crazy." When we approached the Cairo neighborhood of my friends, Maa'di, I noticed how much crazier drive in the streets; people are rushed and honk their horns regularly (taxis honk to see if you want a cab too!) and pedestrians seem to dodge cars to get across. There are no crosswalks, and few lights to dictate the flow of traffic. It's a bit of a free for all!

Once we resumed the driving, Mohammad began chatting to me about the "revolution." He said, "you know, January 25, 2011? You know what happened here?" I am assured him that I had, and that I, and many Americans were inspired by the energy, resilience, and tenacity of the Egyptian people. Clearly he was very proud. It's not hard to see how this could be. The newspapers I read in the airplane, The Egypt Daily News, was full of stories about how this was a new opportunity for Egypt, and for the Americans. The landing card we were given was part of a new little tourist booklet, that stated, "Welcome to Post-Revolution Egypt!" It also had photos from the revolution, including one of demonstration in the early days of the uprising that shows Egyptians standing under a banner that said, "Strike like an Egyptian!" The booklet also had a quote from Obama which stated, "American youth have a lot to learn from Egyptian young people." Clearly, the new Egypt is being marketed for a new tourism. I suppose I'm one of those tourists eager to see what has or will change (not that I was ever here before).

As we drove down the long highway from the Cairo airport, he told me he was one of the many people who gathered at Tahrir Square to call for the end of Mubarak's regime. He gave me a quick update of the people now in custody--Mubarak's wife, Suzanne, being the latest among them, and like her husband hospitalized. I guess that is what happens to old dictators, they all seem to end up in hospitals where they are protected from the reality of their crimes--it happened to the Shah, to Pinochet, and surely will be the case with the Mubarak's; never quite forced to face the crimes they committed. While there still seems to be optimism, there is also the stark reality setting in that real change, real regime, and political change, and ultimately, economic change can't happen fast enough. The friends with whom I'm staying, professors at the American University in Cairo, who stayed to witness the entire uprising in Tahrir Square seem cautiously optimistic. They report that the initial optimism which accompanied the days after which Mubarak formally resigned have waned---the economy is still bad, and they say, there are many others beside the handfull of those Mubarak lackeys who are responsible for corruption, for the systemic corruption that has governed this country for decades. Amy tells me that the in the early days of the revolution, young people were out in the street, cleaning up garbage, painting the curbs, generally caring for a "new Egypt." While the feeling is still quite positive, my distinct impression (and yes, how much of an impression can you have in one day of speaking with folks, and walking around a city?) is that there is so much to sort out. The sectarian violence that occurred in the Imbaba neighborhood of Cairo last week (Muslim and Christian violence) led to people dying, churches being burned, but that ultimately, it is those who wish to sow division in the country who stand to benefit the most. One billboard I passed yesterday which the driver translated for me was, "one country, one blood, Egypt together." There is also a clear recognition that the country's future election, which will be held in September, will inevitably include religious parties, including the Muslim Brotherhood, which have historically been suppressed, banned, and regularly imprisoned. Mohamad El Baradei, the chairman of the former IEAE (I think that's right acronym) is not happy with this, and thus has been pushing for the constitution to be rewritten before the election. Others feel that the constitution should be written only after the elections. Either way, what I see is the process by which democracy is practiced doesn't take place with the ouster of one major act---throwing out a dictator--- but is a long process of learning how to "become democratic" through a series of mistakes, trials, and hopefully, avoiding the repressive tactics that characterized previous regimes. As an American, I'm always struck by which how much we fail to grasp the nuances of what it means to be democratic--particularly for countries where there is little tradition, little institutional memory and guarantees. So, what I see here, is just the idea of having accomplished a major act of social change with minimal bloodshed. That, in itself, seems to have empowered the people. Today, I got up late and waited til Amy and Lennart were through with their Arabic tutor. Amy and I walked around their neighborhood. It's a beautiful neighborhood with lots of beautiful trees, and many of the embassies and ambassadorial homes are here. So clearly, I'm seeing only one part of Cairo. There were lots of Egyptian flags painted everywhere, and some graffiti, but clearly this was further from the hubaloo of Tahrir Square. Amy says that many of the residents who live in this area are quite well-off (some Egyptian and some ex pats from America and Europe). The most noticeable change, she indicated to me was the change in the attitude toward the police, who before the revolution were perceived as abusive, and defenders of Mubarak's interest, and his interest in suppressing people. Amy says they're not as present, and people don't seem to have the same fear of them as before. To that extent, I am getting that there is still a sense of people's empowerment here, which may have lessened in the reality of the economic difficulties, but nonetheless an important shift.The latest news I heard was that an Egyptian court has ordered the erasure of many of the squares, and public icons that have been dedicated to Mubarak and his wife. This erasure of the Mubarak regime might prove one step in closing this chapter in history, but some people seem to be saying a total systemic shift still needs to take place(here is an interesting op-ed piece about the public erasure of Mubarak in today's NY Times: http://query.nytimes.com/search/sitesearch?date_select=full&query=erasing+mubarak&type=nyt&x=7&y=4).



My friends have said that there are many divisions which have emerged (not the least of them the continuous demonstrations and some sectarian divisions which are being sown by either pro-Mubarak, or the Salafis (an ideologically fundamentalist Islamic group) which may be taking this new opportunity of freedom in the streets to exercise their own agenda. The lead-up to the September election may prove more painful when the real grab for power will take place. My hosts said that the Muslim Brotherhood has a solid place in the new government, in part because they are pragmatists, and have a good deal of experience organizing. They've been organizing for decades under a brutal, repressive regime, so in a sense, they know how to be pragmatic. My sense is that we in the West should not fear any government that has Islamic parties in it; but should understand the way that these parties have operated and functioned in certain way to serve the poor, to serve the interests of a population that has been neglected and denied in the face of corruption. It is foolish to think otherwise. This is a strongly Muslim country and it plays a role in people's lives. I know it will have reprecussions for the relations Egypt has with other countries, not the least of which is with Israel. Yesterday, there was apparently some talk of opening the border with Gaza (at Rafah) and apparently, allowing the movement of goods and people across the border in Gaza (something that was highly restricted under Mubarak). I'm following the news about what happened yesterday there as apparently there was shooting at the border and some 52 Palestinians were wounded. The "Nakba" what is known to Palestinians as the "catastrophe" (the founding of the State of Israel in which led to hundreds of thousands of refugees and exiles from Palestine;  see today's NY Times: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/16/world/middleeast/16mideast.html?hp).I'm going to Israel/Palestine next, so let's hope things calm down by next week. It's hard not to see the events in North Africa of the last three months not having an effect on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Hoping for no more loss of life and honoring the resilience of the Egyptian people, I humbly sign off for today.