by Mel Southworth

A couple months ago, I gave a presentation to a grade eight English class, on the work of CPT and the Israel/Palestine conflict.  I tried to describe the situation there in a way they could relate to using the following scenario:

One year ago, a boy brought a knife to school and immediately after the incident, the principal released a statement to the media that he would increase security measures at the school.  Days later, the school administration decreed that all boys must go through a newly installed metal detector before they could enter the school building. Today, the screening process can take up to three hours; school starts at eight o’clock.  Girls do not have to go through the detector; they can enter through the back.  The administration also mandated that boys and girls must attend separate classes and if a girl is suspicious of a boy, she is allowed to request that a teacher search him for weapons.

When an unexpected surprise—like a small, fragile flower pushing itself through a cement block—occurs,  I feel a certain bliss, a moment of awe, an instant vacation.  For a moment, all is well.  Some such moments I have felt working in Hebron for the last three years include the following:

I am in Hebron, located in the Judean Hills, south of Jerusalem in the Holy Land.  Although this place on the other side of the world from my home in Brownsville, Texas, many things here are similar to what we experience in the Rio Grande Valley.

As people of color, Palestinians have to put up with daily harassment from the IDF (Israel Defense Forces), just as our brothers and sister of color coming from México and other parts of the world are harassed by CBP (Customs and Border Patrol).

 In the beginning of his Gospel, Mark lays the foundation of Jesus' mission to show the disciples and us a new way to salvation.  At that time, the Temple served as the center of Jewish life, the place where the economic transactions and social and religious rituals were supposed to sustain the community.  However, often these transactions and rituals benefited only those in power and oppressed the poor.  When Jesus arrives on the scene from a small town in Palestine he doesn't go to the Temple.  Instead, he meets up with John the Baptist in the wilderness.  Here is where he starts his mission.   

During my delegation to Treaty #3 Territory in April this year, I saw the continuing effects of the 500-year history of colonization and genocide on this continent. It's a testimony to the effectiveness of white settlement and ethnic cleansing; I had never come face to face with these realities before in a personal way.  I'll share two particular stories with you.

We start slowly, our delegation members, several men, a handful of women, a sprinkling of children. As we walk out of the Palestinian village of At-Tuwani the procession grows, women cutting across fields, childrenscrambling down hillsides.  Some of the boys carry hoes; the women swing buckets; a young child waves a Palestinian flag.  We are on our way to a small olive orchard in the valley to take part in a healing ritual, but the conversation, in Arabic, sounds chatty, neighbors exchanging the tidbits that make up daily life.  A few of the children try to bring us into the loop with their schoolroom English; we try a few Arabic phrases. 

On Saturday, 21 May, a shopkeeper called us CPTers to the souq (market) in Hebron’s Old Cit because a sound bomb had hit a man in the head.  As I was approaching the shop, another sound bomb fell near where I was walking, momentarily deafening me.  I found the experience very disorienting; I thought, "I can't hear anything and I am all alone," even though a colleague was with me.  For the rest of the evening, my ears felt very full and hurt at times.

The people's uprising against corruption and lack of basic rule of law in the Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) Iraq, has come to an end for now. For 62 days, the people of Suleimaniya Province fought a valiant nonviolent campaign in the form of street demonstrations and strikes which started on February 17, 2011. During these days, the people held "open mike" rallies in the public squares of a number of cities where a host of people from different sectors of society had a chance to express their ideas about how to move forward as a society. They presented a list of demands and structural changes, developed the "Road map to the Peaceful Transition of Power in Southern Kurdistan", and appealed to the international community for backing and support.

I was in Hebron on September 11, 2001.  I remember old men approaching me on the street, eyes full of tears, telling me that God would help me and my fellow citizens.  Other Palestinian friends called us, sobbing, as they described what they were watching on TV.  The catastrophe happened at the end of a summer of egregious Israeli settler violence on the street, and we knew we had to prepare ourselves for the worldwide racist backlash against Arabs and Muslims.  I think both of these factors and my grief for the victims contributed to a sense that my head and heart were creating a reaction I had not felt before, and for which I had no name.

Lightening and thunder burst over Suleimaniya as thousands of new security forces carrying batons lined city streets. It was April 19, and the backup soldiers positioned around the outskirts of the city got drenched in the storm. A day earlier, the forces occupied the main square after removing protesters who had been a constant presence there for 62 days. Demonstrations were banned, with a "shoot to kill" order that was later changed to "shoot the legs" of anyone who disobeyed.