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.

Recently I realized I had not spoken with Israeli Jews very much throughout my three years in Hebron, Palestine.  I decided that in the spirit of nonviolent living, it was time for me to know soldiers more personally and hear their stories.  My first year in 2008 I thought of all the soldiers as coming from the same mold, but now, eight stints later, each uniformed young man and woman  equipped with an M-16 has a name:  Nadeem, Udi, Michael, Alex , Mya, etc.

 Every week organizers give a different name to the demonstrations at "Freedom Square" in Suleimaniya in the Kurdish north of Iraq.  This week, the choice was, "Days of Hope."  On the team, we look hard to find signs of hope here in this land that is experiencing a nonviolent people's uprising against corruption and dictators; I wanted to share this story, in which I believe hope appears.

 Recently, my teammate Peggy Gish and I decided to accept an invitation to visit some students at Suleimaniya University.  The student who made the invitation took us to a ninety-minute lecture in the English department.  The class was studying William Shakespeare's Sonnet 116.

 “Biladi, Biladi ... my country, my country...” the Palestinians' national anthem echoes from loudspeakers in schools all over Hebron, where Nina and I stand at the checkpoint and note how many children have their bags searched.  

I count the children, but I also see that today the soldier stays inside the trailer where the metal detector is, probably so I cannot see how he treats the Palestinians.

…  We also declare that the Israeli Occupation of Palestinian land is a sin against God and humanity because it deprives the Palestinians of their basic human rights, bestowed by God.  It distorts the image of God in the Israeli who has become an occupier just as it distorts this image in the Palestinian living under occupation.  We declare that any theology, seemingly based on the Bible or on faith or on history, that legitimizes the occupation is far from Christian teachings, because it calls for violence and holy war in the name of God Almighty, subordinating God to temporary human interests, and distorting the divine image in the human beings living under both political and theological injustice.”

March 16 was the anniversary of Saddam Hussein ordering the chemical bombing of Halabja, Iraqi Kurdistan, which killed more than 5000 people.

Kaka A. was the driver for our CPT delegation last year.  We had gradually become like an extension of his family.  So, when we visited Halabja, his home, he would not accept payment for that portion of our journey together.  While we were there, visiting the Halabja memorial to the thousands of people who died in the 1988 chemical attack, Kaka A. shared his story with us.

March 16 was the anniversary of Saddam Hussein ordering the chemical bombing of Halabja, Iraqi Kurdistan, which killed more than 5000 people.

Kaka A. was the driver for our CPT delegation last year.  We had gradually become like an extension of his family.  So, when we visited Halabja, his home, he would not accept payment for that portion of our journey together.  While we were there, visiting the Halabja memorial to the thousands of people who died in the 1988 chemical attack, Kaka A. shared his story with us.

Last month, we traveled to Zharawa to meet with friends who live in the internally displaced persons camp there.  Originally created for ninety families, it now houses only two; the others have returned to their villages near the Iranian border.  The families who left felt that despite the episodic bombing of their villages, they preferred their own land, their own homes.  So Zharawa had very much the feel of a ghost town. 

On the bus ride to the camp, I noticed a huge flock of blackbirds flying.  Someone told me the birds are an omen that snow is coming.