madi2gaza

The death throes of a failing state

2010-05-31T16:50:00.006+03:00

That Israel would use lethal force against humanitarians is shocking enough – that it murdered at least 15 unarmed civilians in international waters means that today is likely to mark a turning point in the struggle for Gaza and Palestine. In the remains of the Freedom Flotilla lie the last shreds of Israel’s pretence to belong to the international community.

According to Turkish television, all of the dead are Turkish citizens, a fact that previous convoy members find very plausible. The Turkish contingent was always the least likely to stand by and watch while the ships were taken over, and it is this refusal to bend over to the Israelis that could well have cost them so dear. Over the next week or so a fuller picture should emerge of what exactly transpired on board the Mavi Marmamra, and it is one that Israel is likely to emerge from in disgrace. Meanwhile, friends and family of those on board must wait fearfully for news. Even those on board will not yet have a clue as to which of their friends and colleagues are dead, wounded or alive.

Expect public opinion to be enraged across the Arab and Islamic world and beyond. Citizens from over 40 nations were among those on board, and the vessels themselves were sailing under Turkish and Greek flags, which means that Israel has this time attacked the citizens of almost quarter of the world’s countries. There is widespread talk that this could trigger a Third Intifada, a possibility not lost on Israel which has locked down the Palestinian territories and sensitive sites like Al-Aqsa mosque in Jersualem.

Here in in Amman a march took place from the JEA (Jordan Engineers Association) to the Prime Minister’s Office, while another demonstration was held outside the Israeli Embassy in Rabeah. Further marches and protests are due to take place outside Mosque, embassies and government buildings, and these should be expected to continue over the next few days as a clearer picture emerges of the massacre.

The sheer audacity of the attack on the humanitarians, which happened in international waters, means that the diplomatic backlash is likely to be even stronger than during Operation Cast Lead, and is a massive own goal for the Israeli war machine. Already Jordan, Turkey, Sweden, Greece and Egypt have summoned their respective Israeli officials for an explanation of events, and it seems highly likely that some countries, such as Sudan, will cut off diplomatic ties altogether. Turkey and other countries are calling for an emergency UN meeting to discuss the attack while Ban Ki-Moon has condemned it strongly.

Meanwhile, Nobel Peace Prize winner and saviour of the world Barack Obama has yet to make a statement about what happened, although a White House spokesman did express a bland and general regret for the loss of civilian life. Worse, Benjamin Netanyahu is still on course to meet with Obama tomorrow, a move that is likely to cement the idea that America will serve as Israel’s protector during the backlash.

Now, Israel has resorted to it’s tried and tested tactic of smearing its victims, describing the flotilla as “an armada of hate” and claiming that weapons were hidden on board. Unfortunately, too many people choose to believe the IDF version of events, which as of now is still the only version to emerge.

It is no irony that one of the flotilla’s vessels was named the MV Rachel Corrie, after the young American activist killed in Gaza by an Israeli bulldozer in 2003. Like Corrie, the Mavi Marmara and it’s as-yet-unkown martyrs will surely become a byword for bravery and dignity in the face of brute force.

Passage to Gaza

2010-02-23T13:27:00.001+02:00

A breakdown I did of the political dimension of the convoy's journey through the Middle East.

http://www.jordan-business.net/magazine/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=353&Itemid=40

Gaza 2: Aid

2010-01-21T13:15:00.006+02:00

With such a limited time, getting the aid to the right people became the overwhelming concern. It's not a small undertaking either, as the convoy consisted of 148 vehicles filled with medicines, clothing, power generators, atmospheric water extractors and medical equipment like dialysis machines. Eighty of the vehicles were ambulances destined for Gaza’s beleaguered hospitals and clinics.

I found Ellie Merton hugging one like it was her own child. “I’ve lived with this baby for 32 days. I personally picked it up from Norwich’s ambulance depot, and we’ve been through the snow, the rain, the riots and the waits” she explains. Its surprising how attached you can become to a lump of metal. As Ellie explains though, it’s become more than a vehicle. “We’re carrying with us the hopes and emotions of so many we’ve met along the way”.

Nearby I found Mirban Aslam, the driver of the minibus that I traveled in, having a sombre discussion with an education official. Having driven 8,000km into Gaza, the last few hundred with a fractured arm after a fall in Aqaba, he was finally handing over the keys to his vehicle to be used as a school bus for blind children. The usually bubbly Mirban struggled to hold back the emotion as he handed over the keys to the vehicle, which also included six diesel power generators, wind-up torches, and clothes. “This is exactly what I wanted”.

There is more to the aid effort than simply bringing stuff though, as Moheeb Abu Alqumboz explained. A manager at the Islamic University and a volunteer who helps receive humanitarian delegations, said that in Gaza, like anywhere else, the proper research needs to be done beforehand. “Proper needs assessment needs to be undertaken before sending medical supplies such as equipment or disposables. If the machines don’t fit the existing system or the staff aren’t trained in their use, then they’re not much use.” He points that often, health officials are too embarrassed to tell donors these details for fear of offending or disappointing them.

Moheeb also stresses that while direct aid is welcome, its really income generation schemes that are needed. One of the projects he’s involved with is Work Without Borders (www.palwork.net), a remote working scheme where you can hire services such as website design and translation from Gaza or other offices in Palestine. The work gets done by the many highly-skilled graduates who live in Gaza, and provides a vital link to the outside world as well as income.

You could find many of those young graduates loitering shyly around the convoy members, eager to help out. Almost all had embarrassingly good English. Despite the conditions, you sense that education is a top priority. Some of the most dilapidated houses we visited had several university students living there, an indication of how much they value it. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that “the only way to get out of Gaza is on a stretcher or on a scholarship”, as one student pithily put it. Another English student, Abdul Moniem, can't contain his pride when he tells me that the Islamic University is the top-ranked university in all of Palestine, and the 14th best in the Arab world. I want to get away before he asks me if I went to uni, emabarassed with the Oxford degree I got with only a fraction of the sacrifices that he must make. The Science and Engineering buildings were destroyed in Operation Cast Lead, accused of being weapons workshops. Imagine the Radcliffe Camera got bombed. Think you'd hear about it?

(Photo: Haya Al-Shatti)

Gaza 1: Heroes

2010-01-20T23:44:00.001+02:00

With wicked irony, it was the convoy members who ended up playing the role of war victim as they finally entered the Gaza Strip. Still reeling from the Egyptian police attack that left 60 injured the night before, the thousands who braved the night cold to greet us provided the perfect tonic for the cracked heads and stitched faces. What seemed like a sea of a thousand motorcycles, with two, sometimes three people on each, raced alongside us, colliding in their eagerness to keep up as we drove from Rafah to Gaza City. This was a welcome that not even King’s receive. We were allowed only 30 hours in the Strip, an Egyptian imposed time-limit that meant that we could only really catch a glimpse of Gaza.

One of my first glimpses is a youth on a motorcycle who throws me his red kiffiyeh. “Remember me!” he shouts, before disappearing in a sea of flags.

War

2010-01-14T18:11:00.010+02:00

Tuesday 5th January

The convoy included more than 80 ambulances as it sat waiting in the Egyptian port of Al-Arish. Little did we know we'd be using most of them before the night was through.

Earlier, protracted negotiations over what was and what wasn’t allowed through the Rafah border had come to an abrupt halt. The Egyptian negotiator had walked out, ostensibly to make a telephone call, but hadn’t returned in two hours. In that time, hundreds of black-clad riot police armed with tear gas and water cannons had enclosed the 500 convoy members, but up until now, everything had passed in peace. We’d been reciting Quran and praying. Some of us tried reasoning, as demonstrated here by the eloquent and passionate Scottish-Libyan, Ibrahim.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W9dkzAdXLBs&feature=related

Myself and some Turks had climbed a watchtower on western-side of the port (to Ibrahims right in the video clip), where I could see the waiting water trucks and hundreds of riot reinforcements behind the police lines. Also behind the police crouched a group of around 30 Egyptian-looking types in plain-clothes, stockpiling rocks. I’d heard about these from last year – theories about their indentity ranged from local Fatah supporters or hired mercenaries to members of the mukhbarabrat, the state security apparatus that some number as 1 million strong in Egypt. I took pictures of them from my vantage point.

The standoff continued. About 15 minutes later, some convoy members were sitting down still reciting the Quran when I saw a group of about seven Americans tried to reenter the compound from outside. They were walking with linked arms and were chanting “We are Americans, We are Americans”, over and over. The police couldn’t give a damn. No sooner had they reached the shields than they were set upon with batons. Directly in front of me, the situation none of us had wanted had started to unfold.

The chaos spread like fire. One of the girls whose brother had been taken by the police and beaten started screaming, a terrible piercing scream that spread across the compound. To my left I saw the police break rank, rushing towards the convoy members with batons up. They responded by throwing barriers, punches and rocks back.

Below me, I watched the police beat one of the Americans, Emad, so badly I was convinced that they would kill him. He disappeared in a sea of black boots, gloves and batons as I could do nothing but shout from the ledge. If they killed him there noone would even have seen it, but to jump down would have been suicide. With nothing else to do, I shouted “Ya Allah!” (Oh God) so hard I couldn’t speak for the next two days, and continued to take pictures.

This attracted the mysterious people with the rocks, and no sooner were they aware that there were people on the ledge then a torrent of rocks began to come our way. Not just little stones. Half-bricks and sharp pebbles, carefully collected and prepared for our welcoming party.There was no chance but to turn and run.

Broken glass rained down on me as I scrambled down the ladder, and I could feel the water from a gust that blew over my head. As I ran deeper inside the compound, desperately trying to adjust my camera settings, a rock struck me unexpectedly on the back of the head, no doubt hurled by the youths I was watching just minutes earlier. Bleeding and confused, I put the camera down as one of the Turks poured water and antiseptic over the wound, and handed me a tissue to apply pressure. All around me others staggered back, bloodied and blinded by the tear gas as the rocks continued to rain down. The sky was full of rocks, sailing gracefully in both directions. Absolute white-hot rage.

Further inside, I found Emad the American again. Lying flat behind an ambulance surrounded by first aiders, his eyes were bulging as blood seeped from a head wound. Neda Agha Sultan’s last moments instantly came to mind, and I hesitated before taking a few pictures with my camera that another Turk had handed back to me. He was desperately trying to tell us who was still lost in the throng of black outside. “Haya is still out there, Faith is still out there..”

It transpired that Zubair, another brother who was on the watchtower, had pulled him to safety from the ledge below. If it wasn’t for his bravery then I don’t think Emad would have made it out, such was the savagery of the beating. Others were still missing, including seven who were arrested and were to be kept in a police van with no food or water for 12 hours.

We’d taken some hostages of our own. Some were fair game - policemen - but some were random Egyptians unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. In the heat of battle, it’s difficult to think rationally. God forgive those of us who wanted to take out their frustration on the wrong target. None of them were harmed, but you could see the pure terror on their faces.

The din died down after about 10 minutes, though not before more injuries were brought back from the front. I could see old Turkish men stumbling back with bloodied heads and faces lay on the floor, as well as those who were sitting down blinded by the gas which I was lucky enough not to encounter. Out of all of us, it was the Turks who stood firm the most, and took the biggest beating.

Nobody slept much that night. Later I saw some of the most mild-mannered and gentle people I know (I won’t say who) walking around with steel pipes and baseball bats, ready for any policeman who dared come in. They played games with us, and kept moving formations throughout the night. We could see guns this time, ensuring that the next kick-off would not be as merciful. I managed to get some sleep in the mosque just inside, camera at the ready beside me in case events escalated. Thankfully they didn’t, and as I awoke in the morning from my bloodied pillow we were already getting ready to move out.

Convoy members praying before they were assaulted. Note the aid lorry in the background.

The seconds before it kicked off, from on top of a ledge. Riot police and water cannons.

American Emad, lying delirious behind an ambulance.

Samir, another convoy member.

The Turkish aid lorry from the first picture.

(Photos courtesy of Zuber Hatia)

Back in Amman

2010-01-10T14:19:00.003+02:00

I got back to Amman yesterday, on a flight from Cairo with the Jordanian delegation. In a goodbye kiss from the Egyptian government, 11 convoy members were arrested at the airport, which had a heavy riot police presence. They included several of my friends who were taken prisoner in Al-Arish, along with several Turks who had been involved in trouble at Rafah on Friday. As of yet, I haven't heard anything about their release, but once I do I will update their situation here.

Over the next few days I'll be updating my blog with back-dated entries of what happened, starting with my experience in Egypt. I won't be able to put the full details of what happened on the blog right now, as I will be writing about the events for several newspapers and magazines and I don't want to be duplicating text. For now, here's an article which I wrote which was published while I was away, which describes the convoy's reception in Amman. http://tinyurl.com/yetdbao

Gaza

2010-01-08T05:55:00.000+02:00

We are finally, finally in Gaza. Alhamdulilah.

I've been without internet since the last post. So much has happened since then that I cannot even begin summarise it here. I promise to do that once I get back to Amman, beginning with the story of Al-Arish. Suffice to say here that we are now in Gaza, and all the trouble and the travel, the lack of sleep, the frustration and the doubt and the confusion and the blood was worth it, for this.

And only now I realise that its the being here that counts. To a prisoner with no hope of release, a gift parcel is a welcome distraction, but a visit from your brother, a brother you've never seen before, means a whole lot more.

Intentions

2010-01-02T22:30:00.001+02:00

During the past two days we have been amidst the squalor, warmth, noise, life, mess and magic of the A'edeen refugee camp in Latakia, Syria. Over 7,000 Palestinian refugees live in this tiny, cramped labyrinth of ramshackle houses by the sea. The camp took Viva Palestina into its bosom and embraced it with all its heart, and the best we can hope for is to carry just a little of that embrace to Gaza, inshallah.

Amjad, the handsome 20-year old who has lived in the camp his entire life and has been my companion since arriving here, is from Gaza. His passport is Gazan, his extended family is in Gaza, he even lives in the 'Gazan' quarter of the camp. Politically, he is nonexistent, with no Syrian papers, just a card identifying him as a Palestinian refugee. He has never left Syria. On the plus side, he would encounter no problem in entering his place of origin. He can do so at any time. The only difficulty is that once in he cannot get out - the very definition of imprisonment, the only difference being that Gazans have an unlimited sentence and no conviction. As he recounts to me stories of discrimination and humiliation becuase of his origin, I begin to wonder - what is the difference between where we are going and where we are?

Is it the poverty, the bleaker-than-bleak life prospects, the political invisibility of its residents that made us choose Gaza? If so, then Gaza is by no means unique, even among the Palestinians. Right here in Latakia, and in camps in other part of Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, and the West Bank are Palestinians whose situation is so dire that all the aid we are carrying, all 200 ambulances, lorries, vans and buses of it, would be a drop in the ocean.

Despite the poverty, I have never encountered people so eager to help in any way possible. Last night Wael, a 30 year old camp resident originally from Tantura, Palestine, practically begged me stay at his parents house in the camp, to which I reluctantly agreed. I needn't have hesitated - a night of tea, home-made biscuits and deep sleep in a waiting bed were enough to rejuvenate me for an early start this morning. I also discovered a golden rule - if you are ever lucky enough to be a guest in a Palestinian refugee camp, never, ever, complement your host on any of their possesions, as the said posession will invariably spend the next 10 minutes at the centre of a battle to force it onto you, a battle you are guaranteed to lose. The convoy will leave the camp with much more than it came with, and not just in materiallly.

What's more, they think WE are the heroes. With tears in their eyes they pray for and thank each one of us, whether we are Muslim, non-Muslim, British, American, South-Asian, Malaysian or Arab. They cheer us on in their hundreds, as if we are the valiant troops going to finally liberate their homeland, and they are the ones too cowardly to go. To be quite honest, it makes me feel ashamed. Ashamed that I am going, and they are staying.

In reality, it is the other way round. We are the ones who need them.

A'ideen (The Reurners) Refugee Camp sign
(Photo courtesy of Zuber Hatia)

Final Stages

2009-12-30T13:09:00.005+02:00

We are moving very soon to Latakia, the Syrian port from which we will depart to Egypt, but at this morning's meeting the complexity and difficulty of the task ahead became startlingly apparrent.

Negotiations with the Egyptian authorities have been ongoing for over a week, but currently, no agreement has been formally signed. We have a good idea of where we stand on some issues though. We were told that no vehicles except ambulances would be able to get through, and that only medical aid would be allowed with them. If this is true, it would pose a huge problem. About 70% of the convoy vehicles are not ambulances. Much of the aid is medical, but then again a great deal is not. We have tonnes of clothes, spare parts, food supplies and generators, as well as the vehicles themselves of course. There are jeeps, lorries, vans, minibuses, pick-ups, even a rubbish collection truck. All of these vehicles were going to be left in Gaza, and the thought that they might not, together with a lot of the aid, is a real blow at this stage. Some people are even considering selling up their vehicles here in Syria and using the money to purchase more medicines. This is made all the more difficult by the fact that nothing is certain - there is always the possibility that we will be barred from even entering Egypt.

What is clear though is that we have a very difficult week ahead of us. So far, we have been passing through friendly countries, and have been fed, watered and refueled at every turn. When we set sail for Egypt, we will heading for the belly of the beast. They will do everything they can to make our stay in Egypt as uncomfortable and unpleasant as possiblem, but we were expecting that. There is an eve-of-battle feeling around the camp, and with good reason.

Back on the road

2009-12-30T00:38:00.004+02:00

Finally, after five days of a frustrating but well-publicised standoff, the convoy has moved on to Syria. The details of the diplomatic wrangles can be found here on Aljazeera (http://tinyurl.com/y9a9gwt). Many people, including me, spent last night in a large car park outside Aqaba with the vehicles, and we got moving just before 9 am. After almost 14 hours and 280 miles on the road, we have finally reached Damascus about an hour ago. We have to be prepared to leave again at 9am tomorrow morning to the port town of Latakia, where Turkish-provided ferries should be waiting to ship ourselves and our aid to Al-Arish in Egypt.

There is a real sense of urgency now - we were scheduled to be in Gaza 3 days ago, and some people have already had to leave the convoy to catch flights back home. Thankfully the vast majority of the convoy is still here, and we were also bolstered by a 30-strong Jordanian team, which brings the total number currently on the convoy to around 500.

Although we are moving geographically away from Gaza, it is a real boost to be taking another step towards getting inside. As a first time Viva Palestina convoy member, I had thought that it would be sufficient if we could cut a deal with the Egyptians that ensured that all our aid would get through, even without the convoy members. Without fail however, everyone who has been on previous convoys insists that the entry into Gaza of people from all over the world is imperative, becuase for the people of Gaza that is more important than any of the aid we are bringing. Many people made contacts last time who are eagerly awaiting their return this time round, which makes their desire to get in all the more resolute and the emotion of the few who have already left all the more heightenened.

Must get some rest now, as there will be an early start tomorrow and it has been a very long day. This was only my second day of actual travel, so tomorrow I will, inshallah, post more about life on the move, along with a look at my team and our vehicle, the venerable Bravo 2. Over and out.

Ready, steady......

2009-12-28T14:37:00.004+02:00

Some commotion here as word just got round that we must prepare for immediate departure. Apparently, we are not going to sail to Egypt as originally planned. Instead, we have to drive 500 miles or so back to Syria where the convoy was last week in order to board a ship to the Egyptian port of Al-Arish. As of now we have no assurance that the Egyptians have agreed to let us in, despite very high-level intervention from the Turkish government. Waiting around is obviously highly frustrating, as is going all the way back to a country we were in just a week ago.

This isn't the first time our hopes have been raised only to be let down - the Egyptians are not helping by sending out mixed and contradictory messages, whilst the logistics of organising and communicating with 500 people who are never in the same place and who all speak different languages is proving difficult. For example, I was told the information above by a guy on the beach, which I cross-checked with others (every other person in Aqaba is from the convoy) and found to be true.

Spirits are high though. There was a predominantly Turkish protest at the beach, which involved people symbolically throwing stones towards the Israeli city of Eilat, just across the water from Aqaba. A few foolhardy protesters swam out into the water with Palestinian flags. There are also flags on top of the mountain peaks overlooking the city, placed there by some courageous convoy members yesterday morning. People are doing what they can to stay focused and so far, everyone I have spoken to is succeeding. It would be easy to enter holiday-mode in this seaside town, Jordan's equivalent of Blackpool, but we are focused on what has brought us here, and that is the aid we have been entrusted to deliver.

My posts always seem to be rushed updates before I have to shoot off quickly, but thats becuase the situation is moving quickly and we must be ready for anything at any time. Right now, we are on a state of high alert to move off, but it may come to nothing. Here's hoping we can get back on the road soon.

Why we're here

2009-12-27T13:40:00.000+02:00

Today is the anniversary of the Israeli onslaught on Gaza, a day I will remember forever. I awoke to the sound of crying, and my first thoughts were that a family member or close friend had died. It was effectively worse. My family watched the pictures on Aljazeera, of bodies of tens of police recruits, killed without warning during their graduation ceremony. The next 20 days each held their own horrors.

One year one from that day, the convoy is still here in Aqaba. We've spent our third night here and it looks like it will turn into a prolonged situation. Although Aqaba is a great little town, that's not why we're here. Gaza is the reason we're here, and the sooner we get through the better.

While the first day in Aqaba was an opportunity to get some much needed rest after 4000 miles on the road, the second was one of patience, holding out in hope of news. Today has seen us take action - we held a large demonstration on one of the main roundabouts in Aqaba in order to get maximum exposure, and around 15 of us have started a hunger strike (I'm not yet one of them, but am thinking of joining). The response to the demo was great - hundreds of vehicle horns and high-fives from excited locals. In fact it was so great that the police had enough, and blocked the roundabout to traffic.

The convoy is the big story in town - we're on the front page of the Jordanian national newspapers and are getting daily coverage on Aljazeera and Press TV, among others. Everyone in town is doing all they can to help us, from offering free taxi rides to free nights in very decent hotels.

It seems the demonstration is moving, so I have to run and join them. Another update will follow soon - there will be an announcement at 5pm and we're told that there will be news, though we know now to take this with a pinch of salt. If there is any I will blog it here.

Waiting

2009-12-26T19:31:00.000+02:00

Hello there. I figured I'd get stuck in to what is happening on the convoy, and leave the philosophising for later, so very briefly, here's what happened over the last few days.

The aid convoy, 200 vehicles carrying tonnes of aid to Gaza, arrived in Aqaba, South Jordan, on Thursday night. Since then we haven't been able to board a boat to Egypt in order to get to Gaza becuase the Egyptian authorities will not grant us access. The full story is here http://tinyurl.com/yguhem6 from Aljazeera, possibly the only major network to give us any kind of coverage (which will the subject of another post).

Now we're in the sunny seaside resort town of Aqaba, which is one of the nicest places you could wish to get stuck. The people of the town have gone out of their way to help us - I'm now in a free and very decent hotel on the free wifi - and the mood among the convoy members is fantastic, despite the standoff. Last night there was a spontaneous singalong which eventually grew into a full-on competition between the local Jordanians and the Turkish contingent.

There's a celebration happening right now at the camp, so I will go there, but will post more later.

Beginning...

2009-12-25T17:39:00.001+02:00

Bismillah (In the Name of God)

I've always loved to write, but I've never had my own blog, out of a combination of inexcusable laziness and a more excusable aversion to sharing my more private ideas and feelings. Lately though, so many interesting things have happened to me that warrant sharing that I should at least have a place on the web that is ready and waiting for a quick write-up. So here it is.

The reason I am creating this blog right right now is becuase I'm on the Viva Palestina aid convoy to Gaza, which I joined yesterday in Amman. More specifically, I'm in a McDonald's in the Jordanian port city of Aqaba (don't judge - you can't put a price on free wifi) and the idea of creating a blog occured to me, about 20 minutes ago. The convoy is taking much-needed medical, financial and food aid to the besieged people of Gaza. Currently however, the Egyptian authorities are practically denying us entry to Egypt, for reaons I will elaborate on later, and so we are stuck here for the time being.

This is criminally short for my very first blog post, but I know that if I don't set one up now then I probably never will. A more comprehensive post, about myself and who I am, about my goals and my reasons for setting up this blog (expect it to be about politics, faith, travel, society and culture, for now) will come as soon as possible, but right I have to run back to camp and see if there are any further updates on our situation.

Thank you for reading!