'Palestine changed my life'

Max spent two weeks in solidarity with the Palestinian people as part of a peaceful resistance to the Israeli military occupation of the West Bank. His diary is a powerful account of the brutality of the occupation and the dignity and courage of the Palestinian people in their long struggle for self-determination and statehood.

Why I went

We are going to spend the next two weeks in solidarity with the Palestinian people. One term I choose not to use to describe the work I will be doing to my family and friends is "Human Shield". It is a frightening thought, because you are deliberately putting yourself in danger in order to appeal to some kind of sense of humanity to prevent acts of aggression. In fact the term "human shield" is also specifically militarist: It refers the use of civilians to protect military personal during invasions. This practice breaks international law, and is a contravention of the Geneva Convention. The Israeli army have been condemned for such abuses on many occasions.

We will be joining the Palestinian people in their peaceful resistance to a military occupation. We are, perversely, taking advantage of the racism of the Israeli State, who think of the Arabs as sub-human. Because they see us as white, westerners with powerful governments and with a (relatively) free press at home. This means we are not likely to be shot without reason. We are not going to be detained or arrested without reason. We will not be beaten up or interrogated for hours or made to stand semi-naked in the rain for hours. Not so for Palestinians. Because we are Westerners, we can try to prevent these crimes from being committed, and we can document those abuses, which we do witness. We can challenge the Israeli army in their inhumane practices.

I came here with the International Solidarity Movement (ISM) because I felt I must. I was made aware of the ISM by a slide show and a talk at a local meeting of the Stop the War Coalition. I had heard about them before, but this time I could see that this is something that is really worthwhile, makes a tangible difference, and already my own eyes have been opened. When I was 18 I read George Orwell's "Homage to Catalonia", which he wrote about his experience fighting with the International Brigades against Fascism in Spain in 1936. The book changed my life, and I always identified with this international commitment to justice and equality. If I believe in certain principles, I must fight for them.

Palestine changed my life. For one thing, I will never go on a demonstration in Britain and feel scared of the police again! Their batons hurt when they hit you with them and indeed their horses tower over you in a threatening way. But this is nothing next to a tank pointing a cannon at your face, or an armoured personnel carrier firing shots directly into a crowd of unarmed youth you are standing with. I had never before witnessed the levels of poverty and degradation that I saw in Palestine. (I had never travelled the world - to America, Africa or Asia -, as it is now common for people of my generation to do). Neither have I been so welcomed in another country or so impressed with the ability of a people to survive such dire circumstances. I was truly touched by my short stay in Palestine, and my opinion of the Middle East has significantly changed.

The following is not an attempt to convince anybody that Palestine is an oppressed country - a country without a state, national rights or recognition - these are facts taken for granted throughout this piece. I simply want to describe to the reader my observations of such a god-forsaken place. The Holy Land is a terrifying place to live. Tragically, the historic home of so many important religious sites is a "Hell on Earth".

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Tel Aviv

We arrive the day after my Birthday in Ben Gurion Airport, Tel Aviv. Ben Gurion was the first Israeli Prime Minister. He led his newly formed state in the war known by the Palestinians as "the Catastrophe" of 1948. Palestinians were massacred in their tens of thousands, and around 750,000 people were forcibly removed from their land, never to return. Israel has been ruled by Military Law ever since.

I am hung over from the night before, and I am queuing up for the security check at the airport. I recognise a fellow traveller from a solidarity campaign, but I avoid eye contact for his sake and for mine. We are going to Israel as "tourists". I am questioned for twenty minutes or so in a room where I am being watched by another member of the Israeli Security police (possibly Mossad - their equivalent of Britain's Special Branch). There is a map of the world above my inquisitor, and an Israeli flag above that. The Israeli flag has a Star of David framed by two horizontal blue lines. Some say that the two blue lines represent the river Jordan and the river Nile. If this is so, then their aims for a greater Israel truly are expansionist. It wouldn't surprise me one bit. Their coins (shekels) have a map of "Israel" which is roughly twice the size and shape of their current borders; from Syria to Egypt. It is as if a map of the UK included Ireland and Brittany.

I do not discuss these points with my interrogator. I am doing my best to convince him that I am simply a tourist who doesn't really understand what he means when he asks if I am there to help with the "peace process"... "Do I intend to go to the occupied territories?" "Am I afraid of the terrorists?" etc ... After what feels like an hour, he lets me go with an unimpressed look on his face. I don't think I've fooled him into thinking I'm just there for the sights, but at least he is not sending me home again.

When we arrive at our hostel in Jerusalem we have already arranged to meet the next day at a checkpoint on the way to the West Bank. We are in occupied Jerusalem, where Arabs live in a form of Apartheid. We are new to the area, speak neither Hebrew nor Arabic, and feel a little dazed by our sudden arrival into this disputed territory.

After a delicious felafel kebab and a reassuringly friendly hostel owner we feel a great deal better than we did. Nevertheless we are going tomorrow to meet a complete stranger at a checkpoint in a "war zone". It is not an encouraging thought.

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Qalandaya

When we arrive at the agreed time, some kids who sell us sweet, hot coffee surround us. We are desperate not to stand out too much - the Israeli army are at the checkpoint on the other side of the road, and we half expect to be stopped and questioned. We are joined by some fellow "ISMers" and I meet an American from the "Christian Peacemakers Team" (CPT - boldly emblazoned on his red cap). We travel together in a convoy of cabs to Nablus. The only practicable way to travel in Palestine is by taxi; there are no trains or buses. Already we have formed an "affinity group" or "family" with Maria, another ISM member who we have been waiting with for around two hours and now feel we can all trust each other on our journey.

My first view of an Israeli soldier close up is ironic and rare. A female soldier cuddles up with a man at a temporary checkpoint on the road to Nablus. Like school kids in love, they joke and flirt. I wish I had my camera in my pockets and not in my bag in the boot. They act like they are on holiday together. It's a bizarre sight for an occupied country.

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The City of Nablus

When we arrive in Nablus for our training we go straight to help out in a city-wide mobilisation to remove a roadblock. The Army has erected two huge mounds of earth blocking the main road through the city. Nablus is the largest city in the West Bank, and has been under siege on and off since the Israelis invaded in 1967. A united front of many different organisations has mobilised to remove the roadblock with sheer "man-power". The collective strength of the community is evident. We help them with picks and shovels. When a bulldozer arrives to clear the dirt, we sit on the cabin to protect the driver from snipers. The road diggers would not come down initially with the machinery because they feared for their lives, but after the size of the demonstration against the roadblock and the number of internationals present, two of them decide they will come and finish the job with us. A large crowd cheers and celebrates as the first cars drive through the gaps in the mounds of dirt that have disrupted their daily lives now for many months. The army didn't show up, and although they could come back tomorrow to rebuild the blockade, it is a symbolic victory. On our first day here this is a good sign for us, and an excellent first impression of Nablus.

Road block boulder

After this successful action we go back to our training. We are taught about many things - from the Palestinian culture and some history, to working in "affinity groups", making consensus decisions and how to act in confrontational situations. We are taught not to run away from firepower, as a moving target is a very tempting one, and can cause panic.

That night, the day after we arrive in Tel Aviv, two suicide bombers exploded themselves at a bus stop, killing over twenty Israelis and injuring around 80 on top of that. The two Palestinians were from Nablus. We hear the news as we walk around town that night, and a group from the Al Aksar Brigades are firing celebratory shots into the air during a small parade around the old town. The significance for Nablus hits us as we go back to sleep in an apartment, still adjusting to being in an occupied country.

The next day we go to an area in the city where there have been clashes with the army. On the way we part with our new friends from ISM who are leaving Nablus for other parts of the West Bank. We find the scene of the clashes and I talk with some of the young volunteers for the UPMRC (Union of Palestinian Medical Relief Committee) who are mingling with the Shebab (Arabic term for the groups of youth who usually throw stones at the tanks). Many are very young and fearless. Some do not know why we are here and gather round us, testing us with questions of what we think of Bush, Blair or Sharon (its wise to give all three thumbs down...)

When the Armoured Personnel carriers return for a second time stones rain down on them. They stop in the middle of a square, and start to fire into the crowd. We make our presence known by standing clearly in the open, hands in the air and shouting "internationals". We do not run from the shots being fired, and do not panic. It is terrifying - for the first time in my life I am facing an army firing shots in my direction. Part of you wants to walk up to them and ask why they are here. Another part of you wants to ask yourself the same question and simply walk away... They have no reason to be here. They stay for a while, shooting randomly, and then leave. They have entered somebody else's city, provoking a response of stone throwing, shot three boys, and then left. Pointless provocation. An arrogant display of strength and intimidation. Welcome to Occupied Nablus.

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Old Camp Askar

John and myself are staying the night in the Bata family house, in Old Camp Askar on the outskirts of Nablus. It is in the hills on the outskirts of town, built as tents in 1948 and replaced as buildings in 1955 by the UN. Is it not incredible that there is such a thing as a refugee camp, which has been in existence for over 50 years? These people have been displaced from their homes in their own country and forced to live in camps which were supposed to be temporary. It flies in the face of the notion, which we are taught at school, that the world has been living in peace since the Second World War.

The family we are staying with live above a small shop and everybody seems to know everybody - especially the head of this family, Abu-Samih. He has 2 brothers in the US and one in the UK (Essex University Dr of Chemistry). Abu in an Arabic names means "father" - so he is "father of Samih", his eldest son. Samih Jr (as we would call him) runs a shop beneath the small three-bedroom house. There is a room for myself and John, a dining room (where two men sleep) and two other bedrooms. Samih Jr's wife cooks us wonderful meals, which we all eat together, and we talk about the situation in Nablus. The conversations we have later are very political, and it dawns on you that all Samih has ever seen is many years of occupation and war. Although we are staying in this house to give them a kind of protection, we feel we are staying as guests more than anything else.

Abu-Samih has four sons, one is in prison, and one who is a "martyr". He went into Tel Aviv with a semi-automatic, shooting as many Israelis as he could with a comrade from the Al-Aksar martyr's brigade. This means that the whole family's house is under threat. The Israeli Army pursues a policy of collective punishment of the Palestinian people. It is illegal according to international law to collectively punish a civilian population. The Geneva Convention condemns it as a war crime. The whole community now suffers at the hands of the Israelis. In particular, the families of suicide bombers and other "martyrs" are punished - their houses demolished, the family displaced and humiliated. A common form of humiliation is to force the men to strip down to their underwear in front of their whole family (and anybody else in the street). I found this particularly inhuman psychological torment hard to believe when I heard about it, but by the time I see a photograph of a man made to strip in such a way I have already taken it's truth for granted. I have seen and heard so much worse by the time I have seen that picture... It is worth remembering that the Nazis collectively punished the civilian community to crush their resistance.

The first night we stay in the Askar refugee camp we meet the neighbours and friends of the family in their shop. We sit and chat, swap cigarettes and drink tea. They all think my roll ups are spliffs - I have to explain every time that it's just tobacco! Samih tells me his neighbour, who they call "Castro", eats only 1 meal a day, hardly sleeps at all and smokes 60 a day. These people live in constant fear and poverty. Since the Intifada (uprising) there is no work. Yet they smile, joke and welcome us with a warming attitude. As we walk into the camp one night I hear some lads talking: "The volunteer boys are here!" I hear one of them say to us in a joking way. I feel safe here and yet these are the people who are most persecuted and apparently the most "dangerous".

The resilience and strength of these people will forever encourage me. I hope they continue to be an inspiration to me and to many more. Staying here has left me with a sense of urgency. Whatever I do I must pass this story on.

Back in an ISM meeting (which are held on a daily basis), we discuss the implications of the latest bombing in Tel Aviv: what it will mean for Nablus, what it will mean for the "peace process" etc. This is the first bomb in Israel for over two months. But in that time many Palestinians have died, the siege of Nablus, Bethlehem etc has continued, and the "Security" (or Apartheid Walls in Gaza and Tulkarem have been under construction. What form will the punishment take? A full scale invasion of Nablus? Perhaps they can evacuate the Old City. Most probably they will destroy homes of the suicide bomber's houses. The family of the Martyrs will suffer greatly. Whatever happens, John and I agree our presence is needed here, and our tentative plans to move on from Nablus are abandoned.

After this ISM meeting we spent the day today at the home of 6 families where Barak lived. He was 21 and he killed himself in Tel Aviv only two days ago. His family (in fact 6 families living in one house) will suffer. They are very fearful, and they evacuated their house of furniture today, expecting demolition tonight.

We were introduced to the family, during the traditional wake in the family home. I met Barak's cousin, Bashir, who speaks good English. When asked about what I could do for them, I said I would do all I could to stop the house from being demolished, and to prevent any further human rights violations. I would also be going home to say what I had seen and what more we must do to stop this crime against humanity. I tell Bashir that the people of Britain do not support what Israel does. I used an example of the large demonstration in London, which was against War in Iraq and for Freedom for Palestine. Bashir's immediate response was that he wanted freedom for everyone - peace around the whole world - for the Cubans, the Chinese... not just Palestine. I found this incredible: that he could think in such global terms from such an especially persecuted position. What an amazing people. As I left the house that evening I felt awful. We'd spent the whole day with the family and many visitors who all welcomed us as one of their own. We had made good friends, and now we leave them to a very uncertain night...

The next day we discover that the army hadn't come. We volunteer ourselves to stay with the family that night. They are very nervous. The uncertainty is almost as bad a form of terrorisation as any other. They have no idea when the army will come for them or what the will do when they get there. We spend a large part of the evening surrounded by children and boys speaking Arabic to us. We don't have time to collect our thoughts. One bright young boy is very outstanding, and Bashir, now our official translator explains to me that every night he wets himself in bed. He woke up one night to the sound of a tank firing directly into his neighbour's house and has not been able to sleep a night through since. I have read about this psychological damage to children being very widespread in Palestine, but now when I meet a child who plays and jokes during the day... words are hard to find at the anger you feel at this senseless destruction of human life. Barak's best friend, Yousif, is with us today. He has a picture of his friend around his neck, and he tries hard not to cry when we talk.

We have a good conversation with Hoda, a cousin of Barak. She tells us a lot about the terrible conditions in which the Palestinians live. We are told of their hope that the occupation will end and how the act of suicide bombing is the very last resort. "We have no other weapons - the IOF have tanks, guns planes bombs and bulldozers. We have none of these to fight back with." She also told us of their hope to save the house from demolition. We said we could only do our best and we would try hard to prevent this from happening, but that we could not promise them anything more than that. Under Israeli law they can legally demolish the house, but according to the Geneva Convention they are committing a war crime. We will be "arrestable" tonight - we will support the family if they refuse to leave the house: if they stay, then we will stay. If they leave the house, we go with them and do all we can to any physical harm coming to them. Susan, a more experienced member of ISM, is coming to join us tonight, and this is a comfort to all of us...

ISM does not support suicide bombing. The ISM believes in the methods and principles of non-violent direct action, in the tradition of Martin Luther King, Gandhi and Desmond Tutu. We protect, to the best of our abilities, the families and communities who are forced into such desperate lives. My role as I see it, is to go home with a strong message to the people I live with to tell them of these conditions under Israeli occupation.

Many times in Palestine we were told: "They have a life in Jerusalem and in Tel Aviv. Here we don't have a life. We live but we don't have lives... but we hope to meet you in more peaceful times". I often ask them if they think the Israelis can live together in peace with the Palestinians? Yes, that's what they want. But this is not what Sharon wants, and the Israelis voted for him after all...

Come nightfall, we agree to take turns sleeping. John is sleeping next door, and a chorus of snoring from both rooms accompanies me as I read a journal from a member of the Christian Peacemakers Team. Although I find the Love your Enemy concept a bit hard to take, I enjoy reading about the events in his dairy. It's comforting somehow. Before going to rest alone for a while, I am invited to the neighbour's house for a traditional sweet coffee. We discuss, rather I listen to their Arabic whilst Bashir and their daughter (about 13 years old) translate for me. They ask me many questions about what I can do for them if the soldiers come, and inevitably, what I think about suicide bombers.

I answer their questions cautiously and as carefully as I can. I can't promise to save the house. But I can do all I can to prevent violence upon the men, women and children in the house. I also promised to stay with Bashir, who I am quite attached to, if he stays or leaves. I told him if he refuses to leave then I do too. If he leaves then I leave with him and witness their treatment. Regarding "suicide bombers", I explain that the way I see it, it is the last resort of a terrorised people. They have become so desperate in their struggle against an unrelenting power that they use this weapon. It is a horrendous cycle of violence that perpetuates the anger, hatred and prejudices on both sides. But it has to be seen in this context of the occupation and terrorisation of a country.

Just as the Israelis now imitate the Nazis in their oppression of the Palestinian Arabs, the Palestinian Martyrs are collectively punishing the Jewish community for their support of the brutal Israeli government. A child in a refugee camp cannot distinguish between a soldier and an Israeli civilian. The soldiers who come to their homes with tanks and bulldozers are all they ever see of Israelis in Palestine. I think of Bashir; he's a mechanical engineer, and he shows signs of depression (though of course he is mourning). I think of the life we live in London, and the level of suicides in the UK. I can't help but think if we were living in these conditions we'd be killing ourselves left, right and centre... it really is no surprise to me. This is not to condone it as a tactic, but simply to try to understand why they do it.

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The Apartheid Wall

We went to Atil today for a demonstration against a "security wall" being built on the crops of Palestinian land. The Israelis say it is being built for "security purposes". Whatever the reasons or likely results of the wall (which will dwarf the Berlin wall in height) it is being built well inside the 1967 borders of Palestine (the "green line"). It took us 5 hours to travel a journey, which should normally be 30 minutes by car. This is the kind of disruption to the freedom to travel in the West Bank. Moreover, the journey would have been even longer if we weren't internationals.

No Wall

There were around 200-300 on the demonstration, which was an excellent turn out for a small village. The atmosphere was tense but not overly confrontational. At the demonstration were members of Jewish and Israeli human rights groups as well as Palestinians and Internationals. I met a holocaust survivor who now protests against Zionism. Together, we had blocked the route across the fields that the construction workers were using. The community leaders, during negotiations, demand to see the District Commanding Officer (DCO) to protest to him that this land is theirs and that they cannot farm it with this wall being built. The soldiers promise the DCO will come to speak to us if we let the traffic through. In the face of intimidation (tanks jeeps and APCs arrive on scene) the community leaders compromise. I hear one of the soldiers tell the protestors "we know where you live" and that they would "visit" all of their homes. This is what you can expect for peacefully demonstrating against the occupation here. Of course the DCO doesn't show up, and after we reluctantly move to one side to let the traffic back through we feel we have lost a significant battle.

There was a lively debate about the demonstration afterwards in the community hall. It is difficult to say we needed to stay put and stand our ground, because we will not be hear forever. The Palestinians will suffer for their act of defiance - not us internationals who can go home again to safety. I want to stay to see how the Palestinians there felt the action had gone, but we have no time to lose in getting back to Nablus before curfew...

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Occupied House in Zawata

"I don't know why they have come to our house... and I don't know when they will leave." - Hana' Husni Risheh. The Israeli Army occupied the Risheh house on 11th January 2003. They had come to survey the house the day before, and had warned Hana', the mother of the family, that they might want to use the house for their own purposes then. She simply couldn't believe they really would.

When they arrived the next afternoon they commanded the family downstairs and ordered them to remove all furniture from the top floor. The family has to rent a flat in order to store that furniture - with money that they simply do not have. There are 13 in the house - 10 children aged 3 to 26 - and they are now all forced to sleep in two rooms downstairs. The family have no political connections, are not wanted by the IDF, and are not deemed to be "terrorists". The father, Ahmed, works as a teacher in Nablus and Hana' works as a teacher in the local primary school.

Occupied House

They are being punished for being Palestinian - and used as human shields by the Israelis - because their house is on a strategically important location on the outskirts of Nablus. The army want to be able to watch traffic on the Jjnesnia road from Nablus to Tukarem, Jenin and beyond to the Green line, as well as local traffic in Zawata.

The shock and humiliation to the family is unbearable. The look of dejection in Ahmed's eyes was disturbing, and almost immediately as she began to talk to us, Hana' was fighting back tears.

We had managed to get past the soldiers to talk to the family, after they had told us that they do not speak English. Hana' speaks near-to-perfect English.

No other Palestinians are allowed to visit or approach the house. Indeed we are told, and we witness, boys going past the house on the main route to the local school are shouted at by the soldiers and told to go another way around.

Tanks and APCs come and go bringing soldiers with them. If the family want anything they have to ask permission first. They are not allowed one step up the

flight of their stairs. At night the soldiers consistently bang loudly, which keeps the whole family awake (how could you sleep in your house with soldiers upstairs anyway). They have not said how long they will be here, and they probably do not know themselves. It is this uncertainty which makes the situation so much worse, so much more desperate.

We leave and bring back medicines from the UPMRC, cigarettes for the family and sweets for the kids. The family gave us coffee and invite us for lunch. They ask what we can do about it, but there seems so very little. They can't believe the army can get away with this. There must be something we can do. The frustration is for me similar to the feeling you have when you are in a fight in a dream and you cannot throw any punches at all... Of course this is illegal. But then so is the occupation of Palestine itself, so what is the point of recourse to the law? It is effectively using a whole family as a human shield in a war of occupation. Illegal or not, it is disgraceful.

We take the names and ID numbers of all the family members to pass on to human rights organisations, and we tell the family that everybody has heard about the occupation in town and that they are not alone. I also tell Hana that, with her permission, I will write about this case at home so that people know what is being done to the Palestinian people.

Nablus is a city under siege, and you get the feeling here that the Israelis are gearing up for a full-scale invasion. The anticipation itself - the fear - is an integral part of the terror used by the Israelis.

This case is yet another story of systematic oppression, punishment and persecution of a people already downtrodden by decades of occupation. It is a stark reminder that the Israelis are a law unto themselves; that they can flaunt international conventions and completely disregard the human rights of Palestinians.

I walk away with a sense of rage and disgust that the rest of the world is allowing this to happen. A local approached us in the usual welcoming manner as we walk through Zawata, and he insisted that when I get back to my country, I tell as many people about these crimes as I can. I tell him I intend to do exactly that.

On the way back to the camp we are staying in, a phone call comes through to tell me there have been "clashes" in camp Askar. On 11th January 2003 Pasman Al Shaneer, from Camp Askar, was shot dead by the IOF. Their tanks rode into the refugee camp and of course the local Shebab throw rocks. Pasman was 20 years old. He was political, a member of Fatah, so it is possible he was targeted. But being a 20 year-old Palestinian is enough to be a target in this country anyway. Many men his age are members of one of the groups. I know I would be. But joining a political organisation here is as good as signing your own death warrant - it's only a matter of time before you are imprisoned or assassinated. I'm asked if I want to go with other members of ISM to the hospital to visit Pasman and the other injured boys in hospital. I don't feel up to it. And somehow it feels wrong to go. Instead I talk with boys from the remaining crowd about what happened to get a better picture. I want to make sure this is documented properly.

When I go to use the Internet before going to our house I cannot reply to my email messages of good will from home. I want to tell to my family and friends many things, but words are insufficient to the pain and suffering we are witnessing. As we write in our journals at night I am fighting back the tears. Suddenly what sounds like an explosion booms through the house. We jump out of bed thinking "this is it - they"ve come... but there is no one there, and Abu-Samih tells us to go back to bed. He says if anyone is coming for their house then they will get a call from their friends in the neighbourhood. "It"s nothing! Go to get some sleep..." We are both shaken and at the same time feel a little embarrassed at the casual way our host dismisses what sounded to us like the door being blown off...

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Checkpoint

The most important daily activity is "checkpoint watch". All roads in and out of Nablus have Israeli checkpoints erected to prevent the normal life for Palestine continuing. Reading about them means little until you have witnessed what goes on. They prevent Ambulances from going through to hospital with dying patients in them. Pregnant women are told to wait for hours on end before being sent home again. Men daily queue up to ask when they can get their impounded taxi back - only to be ignored by the soldiers on duty. All this means getting to work, school, and hospital or just to visit your friends in another town is virtually impossible. Each day we go to try to assist the most needy through the checkpoints, and to ask the army why they are detaining people arbitrarily. Sometimes we are successful and sometimes not. Every time we were there the Palestinians appreciated our presence. We ask them how long they've been waiting and invariably the answer is hard to believe. Five or six hours?! "This is normal" they respond to your initial shock.

One day we were prevented from leaving Nablus ourselves. On another occasion we were told we couldn't come back in. We had to stand in the dark for half an hour with a tank training its weapons on us and the troops telling us we'd have to leave when they knew we had nowhere else to go and to stay out at night would be breaking curfew... That day we had a small taste of what it is like to suffer at the hands of a military regime.

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Our Journey home / some afterthoughts

On our last day in Nablus we join a demonstration of school children. Their placards read "we cannot learn like this": "UN where are you?" They chant with impressive unity and the boy who read out a statement in Arabic was such a powerful speaker he would have put any politician or leftist in the UK to shame!

Once through the checkpoint on our way home, we wait for a taxi driver to fill his car so we can go on to Jerusalem. But the border police show up and decide they have nothing better to do than to tell everyone they can't go anywhere. Regularly they flick their siren on for a second, causing a screaming sound, just to remind us who's in charge. These people are the worst. The army hate them and they hate everybody else. So they are not to be messed with - they are violent and short-tempered. And they have the power to actually arrest you - not just detain you like an army officer. So we cautiously negotiate with them and get our cab to go free. As the cab moves on we feel we have done something - the three Palestinians aware that they have picked a lucky car to travel in. They call them "dogs" as we leave - they were Arabs doing the dirty work for the Israelis... which makes them even worse.

We get though the airport with little problems, to our relief. When we arrive in London the first thing I notice are the beggars on the tube. In two weeks in some of the most destitute communities on earth I have not seen a single homeless person. Welcome to civilisation. When asked what he thought of Western Civilisation, Gandhi replied that he thought it would be a good idea.

Whether the work of the ISM is successful or not - and it has many functions - our presence alone is overwhelmingly supported by the Palestinians that we met. Where ever we went, once people understood why we were there, the appreciation and the hospitality was overwhelming. We made many friends on our travels, and everywhere we were told that we could come back for coffee, lunch, or to stay over anytime. In addition people often said that they hope we come back to visit during peacetime. This optimism and hope is what keeps them (and us) going. And the hospitality is genuine and sincere. During peacetime I would love visit Palestine for a holiday. It is a fantastically beautiful country. Our rare journeys outside the city were laced with wonderful scenery of Olive trees and Mediterranean hillsides. The Old City of Nablus has some stunning architecture and the marketplace in the Kasbah is a treat. And the people our incredible.

Whatever small difference my presence had, my stay in Palestine has changed me forever. I hope I can pass on these experiences to as many people as possible, and to encourage people to assist in this struggle for human dignity and freedom. Whether or not I go back to Palestine - and I certainly intend to - I feel part of me is always going to be there.

Max

2003