A European Union in Palestine

You can also find this piece on my blog on The Electronic Intifada.

More of my views over the PA’s statehood bid are expressed on New York Times and The Daily News Egypt.

Olive tree facing Israeli buffer zone.

My story as someone who writes (writer is too good a title for me), emerged from a very small chaotic class some seven years ago. I used to think of myself then as a lion-hearted correspondent who puts on a bulletproof vest and maintains her feet in the middle of ferocious Israeli tanks. I used to imagine my high-pitched tone reporting live-streams that appear as Breaking News on thousands of TV screens.  Somehow, I had been playing and re-playing videos of al-Jazeera’s reporters in my naive head all the time.

Thanks to Israel, which is the heart of most of my pieces, I received an unexpected e-mail from The Electronic Intifada editors, asking me to start blogging for the website about a week ago. I bounced up with joy and dashed out of the room to announce the news. While my mother labored to produce an over-ecstatic expression, my younger sisters looked at me from the corners of their eyes and rolled them back to their half-filled dishes.

Israel, without which my correspondence dreams wouldn’t have existed and because of whom I blog today, seems to have brought us, too, a mirage called “the State of Palestine.”

Last Friday, my eyes almost pierced the TV and shot my outdated president, Mahmoud Abbas, a scornful look. With his nose crinkled and a grey broom crawling out of his nostrils, he vowed to resume negotiations with Israel only if he was guaranteed full membership in the unwelcoming bosom of the UN. My mouth exploded with curses and I pulled off my rotted socks, balled them, and hurled them at him. Skillfully, they landed on his face. “I wish you could feel it, expired tuna!” I muttered.

He, in his neat suit and air-conditioned home in Ramallah, will agree to discuss “issues” like borders, refugees, and the status of Jerusalem had his dream of a Palestinian state broke out into reality. How would it be possible to reassess borders when he claims that the state of Palestine will be based on the “indefensible” 1967 lines? How credible is his alleged commitment to the Right of Return when millions of neglected refugees are not even being consulted on their fate?  I can clearly see the two faces of the PLO.

When I close my eyes and think of a state, something similar to France winds up my head. A smile escapes my memory and molds itself out on my face. I rejoice at the memory of my legs as they sprinted from Lille (in France) to Brussels, two months ago, unhindered by security-concerned soldiers or humiliating checkpoints.

The complexity of the entire world seems to have crippled off my brain the day I put one leg in Brussels and the other in France. I couldn’t believe that both Gaza and France march over the very same planet.  When I came back to Gaza, I often thought of a Palestinian version of the European Union uniting us with the West Bank, Jordan, and Egypt. I did not dare, however, to divulge such alien thoughts to any of my friends.

But one’s eyes cannot but open. And when they do, reality creeps over my body and snatches everything alien from the air. The state they want me to embrace is one disconnected and disjoined by a racist wall. A state on less than 22% of historic Palestine through which illegal settlements snake and swallow up water and other natural resources. Something that one can call a bantustan. Indeed, something I, we, the majority of Palestinians, cannot afford.

One hour following Abbas’ speech, last Friday, I, Huwaida Arraf, the co-founder of the International Solidarity Movement, and another Palestinian girl were interviewed on BBCWorld Have Your Say. Three Israelis were also brought in to the show to present their views over the PA’s statehood bid.  I flared up when one Israeli suggested that “a One-State solution means the elimination of Israel.”

Ahead the episode, I had been told that it would be more of a discussion than an interview. But I found myself muted when I died to squirt at the Israeli as he blurted out with lies and baseless information. Arraf, also told me on twitter that she had been gagged at some point.

Coincidently, a few days ago, I was stirred by a comment from someone on a recent piece on my blog accusing me of “yearning for the eradication of Israel.” I think I should learn to accustom myself to such sort of accusations every time I speak in favor of a One State.

Palestine is not Nazi Germany, and the eradication of Israel is not what Palestinians seek to achieve. It is not always right to use statements from history and try to identify them with the present. When Israeli Jews tend to play with history and assume a widespread anti-Semitic fanfare, this is because it serves their vile purposes not because it applies to reality.

The world we were born into did not provide us with many options. Everything is a difficult decision. Sometimes it’s either you travel tomorrow or miss the scholarship forever simply because it was an extraordinary opening of the Rafah Crossing that is not likely to occur more often.   Even if it was your brother’s wedding or the birth of your first child.

Many people here subsist on charities and many live in uninhabitable shacks. There are times when hundreds of frameless bodies and the fractured dreams they carry dive in sewage to the knees.  They would invite neighbors to join them on the rooftops in order to avoid mosquitoes, a scorching weather and an intolerable smell. On better occasions, when the only misfortune is a “normal” power outage, refugees pack the rooftops under the dim light of the moon to share stories and smoke hookah. The lamma (friendly gathering) has always compensated for their wrenches and searing pains.

A refugee’s ultimate dream is to go back to the land on which his ancestors lived respectable lives and feed from the olive groves they cared for. Sometime back into history Palestinians and Jews lived side by side, shared meals, weddings and religious ceremonies. There were times when Palestinians and Jews hoped for a better future alongside each other. Sometime before the state of Israel was created and before hundreds of thousands of Palestinians were displaced across the countries to never return.

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Dear Readers,

You may want to contact me at: rana-baker-91@hotmail.com or follow @RanaGaza on twitter.

Finest Regards,

Rana Baker

Ten Years after the Twin Towers Collapse, Gaza Has Something to Say.

Gaza 08/09

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Twin Towers 2001

Being Muslim nowadays is difficult. But being both Gazan and Muslim can be of a disastrous impact. As many here see it, Islamophobia is a term invented by racist groups whose purpose is to point an accusation finger at a certain people –Muslims- each time an “act of terrorism” strikes the world. This is an odd generalization that is simply not true.

“The war on terror” that manifested itself in the uncurbed words of George W. Bush –former US president- immediately following the September 11^th attacks on New York’s Twin Towers did not spare Gaza.

With Hamas taking control over the Strip in 2007, biased media outlets began waging propaganda hurricanes to influence the world see Gaza a zone of terror where criminal armed gangs seek to wipe Israel off the map. They also took advantage of the Sept. 11^th attacks by concocting stories about purported collaboration between Hamas and al-Qaeda. To the west, both Hamas and al-Qaeda pose danger to humankind. Khaled Meshaal, a prominent Hamas political leader, said in an interview done in Syria for US public TV that Hamas is a resistance group that fights Israeli colonization only as opposed to al-Qaeda that is involved in international terrorism.

Backed by the US, in late 2008, the war on Gaza was launched. Twenty two days of relentless aggression against a mostly-civilian population was justified as necessary operation to uproot terrorist infrastructure throbbing through this densely populated area.

In Gaza, Islamophobia features itself through motherless and childless nights many kids and mothers have to swallow. Since Israel proclaimed Gaza a den where terrorists need to be cleansed, hundreds – not to exaggerate- of such innocent lives have been claimed.

One could lean into his window in the morning to look out on an impoverished refugee camp or smear his morning coffee when inhaling sewage-drenched air. It is always obvious that Israel has suspected every standing figure of hiding terrorists no matter how shapeless or worn out these figures seem to be. And more, in disregard to how huge the banners reading “School” or “playground” for both schools and playgrounds are equally suspected whatsoever.

Mohammad Suleiman, 21 years old Gazan blogger thought of the reasons behind this Islamophobia: “If we want to talk about the reasons, of course they are many: some have to do with Zionist agenda and securing the state of Israel against not all Palestinians but all Arabs and Muslims”. But he is optimistic: “I think there is a growing awareness now in Europe in regard to this although Islamophobia reached astonishing levels in the US due to the role of AIPAC and other Zionist groups.”

The truth, although surprising, is that the majority of Gazans, if not all of them, are trying to find solutions where Palestinians and Israelis can live in peace and harmony together.  While one part hopes to fulfill this dream by opting for a Two-State solution, the other supports One State. I, the writer, have lived in Gaza all my life, and it never happened that I encountered someone who wants to “wipe Israel off the map”. Even if such minority exists, it’s worth mentioning that in Israel itself, there are people who wish to wipe Palestine off the map.

Here is what Eman Sourani, 22 years old, and a One-Stator thinks: “The issue isn’t about getting rid of people but of Apartheid. We need to end the Israeli Apartheid that is based on Zionism”.

A few weeks ago, in a summer camp in Norway, dozens of young Norwegians were sprayed with bullets to end lives of over seventy and wound several others. International press and social media suddenly began blabbering about Muslim perpetrators who were labeled -as usual- as “terrorists”. A few days later, the perpetrator turned out to be just an “extremist”. Indeed, to describe a Norwegian, lighter term becomes a necessity.

This incident and this manipulation of language brought back the pictures of the September 11^thattacks. In Gaza, young bloggers began raising many questions.

“If the person who killed 70+ people in Norway was a Muslim, the Press would have declared him as terrorist. For now though, he is just an ‘Assailant ‘, ‘Attacker’ (Reuters), ‘Gunman’ (BBC, CNN & Al Jazeera). Looks like ‘Terrorist ‘ is a name reserved for Muslims? The US Dept of State calls it an ‘Act of Violence’, not an ‘Act of Terrorism’”. Samah Saleh, 22, updated her Facebook status.

Samah is a Muslim, but she’s not a terrorist. She’s a medical-school student and one example of thousands of successful young Muslims in Gaza.  Actually, thousands of students graduate from Gaza-based universities every year.

Extremists and terrorists exist within every community regardless of their sects, religions and beliefs. Criminals cannot represent every individual and religion in a given society, but rather the influences that surrounded them as they grew up. Evidently, this singling-out of a people and unreasonably putting them in an isolated category is nothing but an act of racial discrimination.

Shaimaa al-Waheidi, 23, a recent graduate argues that there is lack of understanding in regard to religions especially Islam: “USA and everyone should understand that all religions are innocent from the people’s crimes. For me, as a Palestinian citizen, I feel very sorry for the families of September 11^th victims”.

“These attacks insulted us and insulted our religion. Our religion is a religion of peace and we are against these attacks.” Agreed Lara Abu-Ramadan, 19, a writer of Arabic prose. “After the attacks on the World Trade Center, Muslims were treated like terrorists in Europe. Before I traveled to France this year, I had fears that people might be offensive to my Hijab, but they were better than I had imagined despite some scornful looks I received. Sometimes these looks made me feel weird; it hurts being treated this way” she described.

But have the attacks affected the lives of the young people of Gaza?

Sahimaa and Mohammad, both mentioned earlier, had something to say: “I think the September 11^th attacks haven’t really affected my life as a Muslim because I do believe that the USA government had already shaped its constant vision about Islam before the attacks happened” said Shaimaa.  Mohammad’s answer was a bit different: “They might affect me in person, but I think I can help fight back these prejudices and misrepresentations”.

The current assaults on Gaza, unlike what took place on September 11^th 2001, are not being covered by Western media.  Three children among six civilians were massacred and yet nothing has been reported. These children killed and women injured are not different from women and children killed and injured on Sept.11^th. In either case, the victims are non-combatant civilians and more importantly, not terrorists. Western media, let’s face it, reports discriminately. Blind eyes and deaf ears are always turned toward those who seem to be less important in the eyes of outwitting politicians whose game of power determines victims and murderers in total disregard to the truth.

Weddings without a groom; only in Gaza

Velvet blue sky - Gaza.

Published on  The Electronic Intifada with minimal differences.

My disinterest in Zara fashion, Grey’s Anatomy, or even the mouth-watering Brad Pitt (whom I googled to learn how to correctly spell his name), draw me to the most embarrassing words when the only topic of discussion is the untamed grins of my friends, endlessly declaring celebrities as “reserved fiances.” A wild shrill sound usually follows when one girl makes a rival claim to a celebrity coveted by another and a girlish fight erupts between the two.

”Illi!” yells one, usually in an overcrowded campus.

“No! Mine!” retorts the other.

“For both of you,” I add, giggling, as they pretend to lose their tempers. We crack up laughing.

Our lives are not as simple as this. And even if we want to love, we do not allow our hearts commit this sin before forcing the target of our affection swear to God that he is not involved in any kind of resistance groups. This is to assure our hearts that they could be broken because of some pretty girl or by forgetting birthdays, anything, but not martyrdom. Such is life, love and death in Gaza.

I have found myself countless times maintaining my grip around the iron rods of my balcony as if to curb the trembling of my knees and the heart heaving beneath the buttons of my school shirt. The morgue of the Shifa hospital, the biggest in Gaza, lurks near where I live.

Funerals, before swarming into one of the shaheed (martyr) graveyards, pass through Urabi Street — a dingy road named after Ahmad Urabi, who revolted against the European domination of Egypt during the Khedive’s rule. I can see Urabi Street when I look down from my balcony.

A space normally filled by tooting vehicles could turn in seconds into atrocious image of bloody stretchers weighed down by fermented faces or shattered flesh. A Palestinian flag would be wrapped around the shaheed . Worn-out muscles and angry chants would carry him back to a brown soil, like the skin of the woman he loved. The scent of carnage would float up, carrying promises of death to those who would ever dare to bother the high walls of occupation. To “protect” Israel’s citizens, lethal “military orders” become unavoidable.

Every night, as my head falls on my pillow, I think of other heads, also falling on pillows but stuffed with different thoughts. I imagine those visiting and revisiting plans of a summer vacation coming true by the simple booking of a flight. I compare this to my misery; a packed Rafah Crossing and long hours of indignity. I think of Israel and my foreignness to the West Bank, and the West Bank’s foreignness to me. I fall asleep.

The outside world, the checkpoint-less expanse, doesn’t know why wrinkles map our faces so early. Our tears are different, and so is their cause. So, too, are the causes of our moments of happiness.

I would at times contemplate the memory of my mother’s face when I delivered her the news of the departure of Israel’s ambassador in Egypt and compare it to my birthday, a week earlier. Her mouth curved into an ecstatic expression, with a smile that took in the entirety of her face. She did not smile like this when I turned 20. Nor did I. But this time, I too indulged in joy and my mouth stretched until it hurt. Unlike on my birthday.

But I do not blame my mother and do not reproach myself.

It’s the kind of Arab rapture that whisks you away from Gaza and drops you in Tahrir Square. You suddenly find yourself amid dark-skinned crowds and feel your body pushed forwards or backwards, depending on how everyone moves. Flags would breathe in your skin and chants would rush to your ears. Leaflets would be held tight in your grip. Blood would rush to your head and you would be swept up with love and excitement.

All of this would happen without having to cross the unending miles of the Sinai desert or sweating with waiting throngs in a hall drowned in discontent and packed with curses. Such rapture would eventually lift up 1.6 million hearts. They would no longer feel jealous or wish to boast of their contribution in expelling an Israeli ambassador.

Power cuts, and my consignation to darkness, taught me to amuse myself at the thought of having “Arabs” from the “inferior race” kick out an “Israeli” from the “superior race.”  I secretly giggle and draw faces of Mr. Ambassador losing nerves on the some 80 Israeli workers who departed with him.

But it is always the fault of the people in Gaza. Israel’s wrath is always directed at 1.6 million lives teetering between fireworks and firearms.

Yawning, sometime late into the night as I write this, whoosh of heavy bullet-stream riddled dreams and nightmares bubbled by snoring bodies. I was trying to snuggle in a recent wedding ceremony and a gossip seminar few hours ago. But Israel is always there to snub me and kick off any such exciting attempt.

Any awkward reality finds its place in Gaza. “Babe, you missed our wedding,” is a common statement here. It’s not always that a groom can reach his bride on their wedding day. A while ago, my mother was invited to participate in a groom-free wedding ceremony. Unfortunately, the groom was not allowed a stamp on his passport and was turned back to Egypt.

The implications of such absurdity are probably the best thing about our lives. Israel can destroy our houses, but we’re still going to build a shack and live. They can hijack the lives of our sons but we’re still fertile enough to give life. We can deal with anything but definitely not another “voluntary transfer.”

The shabab (young men) of my country have a unique sense of humor. There are special jokes made about the people of Hebron, and funnier ones about al-majadla, the people of ethnically cleansed Asqalan (as Ashkelon was known before 1948). Such jokes usually stereotype the alleged social incompetence or unfavorable characteristics of a certain community. Many jokes traveled through the generations until our older relatives bequeathed on to us the clutter of their laughter.

The sabaya (young women), for their part, have unrivaled skills for gossip. In a few seconds, the historical record of their “victim” falls open and no detail remains undisclosed.

Both the shabab and sabaya might be accused of all kinds of things, but definitely not the will to abandon their country.

Many times in my life, I have cursed Gaza and questioned my fate. My heart, however, has always failed to skip beats at the hearing of any name, any city, but Gaza.