I remember when I was 17 attending a dance for 13-14 year-olds as a supervisor type. This involved some intense supervisory-type head-throwing-around. I can’t remember the song, but it was something appropriate for black jeans and signs of the devil. I remember the next day, my neck muscles had the strength and characteristics of a bundle of overcooked egg noodles, and I thought to myself: “I am getting too old for this.”
So, last night, at a club. Still too old for this, apparently.
The night out was with the wonderful crew for the Providence Summer game I’ve raved about occasionally, plus my Caroline of course. It was a nice evening of dinner and dancing and fine, fine drunken conversation.
Today, I am resting my neck and not moving around much. It is a treat to do nothing. The week has been mad. Got in the door from Switzy at 11pm on Tuesday, in bed at midnight, Weds out the door at 8am, back at home at 1am and straight to bed, Thurs out at 8am, back home at 9pm this time so had a few hours before sleep, then out the door at 8am on Fri and not home until 4am Sat morning, then up at 10.30 and out the door at 12, back home for a couple hours in the early eve then out again and not home finally until almost 3am. No wonder I’m not getting any bloody writing done.
Its a really beautiful day though.
Challenging Definitions
Over on Rafah Kid, Mark links to this article about the death of Rachel Corrie. In the comments, the usual debate is raging. (I say “debate” in the spirit of being extremely generous to some of the contributors.)
Reading it reminds me of one major problem in dealing with these issues. In this case, the spark is me noticing that some of the pro-occupation posters tend to make absolute statements about who the Palestinians are, namely that they are a people who overwhelmingly want to wipe out Israel and kill as many innocent Israelis as they need to in order to make that happen.
These people have defined the Palestinians as evil.
—
A few blog entries back I had a comment from someone called Hannah. She’s in high school in the States, and says, quoting my Palestine premises post:
[me] * Shared humanity tells us that the majority of people on both sides are
prepared to compromise for peace, and seek to minimise suffering for those on
the opposing side.
[Hannah] I’ve tried to say this before … but they just pull out the “60% support
terrorism and dont want peace” statistic … how should I defend myself in this
situation?
—
Again, the Palestinians are being defined as evil.
I replied to Hannah recently, but I don’t know how much sense I made and I didn’t keep a copy so I can’t check. Anyway, I thought it might be good to throw this one open to any and all who might be reading:
How can you talk about being pro-Palestinian when your opponents are defining the Palestinians as evil?
Or to flip it around,
How can those who define Palestinians as evil be made to question this definition?
Please respond. I’ll email Hannah to tell her we’re talking about this here.
Licensed To Peel
Back from Switzerland. Cover not blown. Dispatched with seventeen SMUSH operatives in their concealed missile silo beneath Lake Lucerne. Disarmed supermissile aimed at Antarctica set to kickstart global warming and raise oil prices. Watched as evil mastermind Jaromir Pyts eaten by his own pet eels. Ate chocolate. Yum.
—
Craig and Marcel’s wedding was delightful. In Switzerland, the wedding reception is like those I’m familiar with, but all the speeches are like the best man’s speech. Which is to say, those with the temerity to wed get ruthlessly, teasingly mocked for the entirety of the reception. Good fun. There were a bunch of photos of young Craig I’d never seen before.
It was pretty cool. I’ll throw up some photos soon.
—
An RPG system I’ve developed and made available on the web, dREAL, has been awarded a kudos thread on RPG.net. This makes me a very happy moose. Always nice to have things you work on get received well.
Of course, it just makes me want to do more work on it, which isn’t particularly useful right now. It is June. I still haven’t written any Ron the Body since last June (made notes but that don’t count). I’ve taken a year off my novel without even meaning to! Erk.
—
I am exhausted. But life is good. Now I’m gonna try and knock off a bunch of email. Sorry if yours isn’t one of those replied to.
Palestine Trip 6: Green Spaces
Up here. [EDIT: DEAD LINK, REPRODUCED BELOW]
I’m really not sure I did Qalqilya justice with that last email. Its hard to communicate how many-layered the problems are, how they all fold back on and compound each other. I could write and say much, much more.
I won’t. I will say, if you’re interested, there are plenty of resources a google away. The tunnel, in particular, is something to watch – when we visited Qalqilya, very few people knew of it. Word is spreading fast.
PREVIOUSLY: PALESTINE TRIP 5
Tuesday April 13, 2004
It’s Tuesday. We get out of the cage.
It takes about an hour to get from Qalqilya to the heart of Tel Aviv. We’re here to talk to Windows (http://www.win-peace.org/), an organisation that promotes understanding between Jews and Palestinians across the Green Line. It uses art and education, and a beautiful magazine that is
co-created by children on both sides of the border and produced with Arab and Hebrew text side by side.
We meet the young Windows person and head out to eat breakfast in a park with some of her friends. There are trees everywhere and happy children playing. It suddenly feels a bit like normal life again: sitting in a park talking politics with informed and passionate people. But that is an illusion. Tel Aviv isn’t distant from the politics – it is caught right up in it. The attacks happen here. Israeli society is full of worry. On the inflight magazine coming over, there were six or seven full page advertisements that referred to bombings of civilians. This is absolutely a part of their world.
I talk about New Zealand a lot. They are interested in the Maori situation, how New Zealand has managed and mismanaged its reparations, how politicians make hay out of resentment and fear. There is also respect for the New Zealand history curriculum, which had me at 15 studying Northern Ireland and Palestine side by side.
Back at the little downstairs office, we get the spiel about Windows and its mission. It is an incredibly valuable group doing important work. The hope is refreshing.
Our next stop is Ein Karem, a lush suburb in the hills near Jerusalem. There we meet Peretz Kidron, and talk about the refuseniks (http://www.yesh-gvul.org/, which seems to be down right now). These are
Israeli soldiers who have refused to follow orders. Peretz comes across as fiercely committed to his ideal of a conscious soldier who is informed and able to make moral decisions. This is the best place for human rights to be defended – history has shown that we can’t expect those in power to give account to human rights, so it falls to those who enact the orders to be the moral guardians as well. Its a compelling argument, and while I don’t agree with every aspect of what he says, it is all insightful and worthwhile. One interesting thing we talked through: he advocates a fair conscription into military (not civil) service, because a professional army will never question the orders received from their political masters. He’s an
interesting figure and we take up most of his afternoon.
In the hills near Jerusalem we talk with Peretz Kidron of Yesh Gvul, a refusenik organisation.
Then we head back to Beit Sahour. Samer and the ATG crew have organised for us to spend the night with a local family. Cal and I are staying with Johnny and Manar, a young couple, and their little daughter Nicole. They are good people, welcoming us in, plying us with food, chatting about all sorts of things. Johnny in particular is a born storyteller, full of tales. He’s pleased to see some more Kiwis, having worked with some New Zealanders some years back in a casino in Jericho. He regrets never getting a chance to play the promised rugby game with them. Eventually we sit watching television, Saudi and Lebanese stations by satellite. Johnny apologises that he can’t take us out anywhere – there isn’t anywhere to go.
No movies, no nightclubs. All of their stories end up talking about the situation. It underlies every aspect of their lives.
Their house is beautiful. They’re both lovely and smart, full of life. They are absolutely like any random family here in the UK, or in New Zealand, or, well, anywhere. They’re just good people.
Under their roof that night, we sleep well.
Before we leave Qalqilya, we give Mahmoud’s children the kiwi that’s travelled with me since I left New Zealand in 2002. I make sure they know what it is before we go.
NEXT: PALESTINE TRIP 7
Every 6 months
I cut my hair.
Yay. Number 2. I am smooooove.
—
My moose powerz continue to grow. MAD SKILLZ TO THE MOOSE. Ergo keyboard has arrived too, cool.
Just watched the third-to-last episode of Angel. Wow. Cool. Funnay. Cookie dough.
Now watching ‘Death in Gaza’. Err.
Palestine Trip 5: Pushes
Up here [ DEAD LINK – REPRODUCED BELOW ]. Mistakenly numbered it ‘4’. One of the problems with the email archive is that it doesn’t let me edit anything. Oh well.
Also I forgot to put in the email that new photos are up [DEAD LINK – INCLUDED BELOW], including my favourite from the trip.
Must get this account done before going to Switzerland on Saturday!
PREVIOUSLY: PALESTINE TRIP 4
Monday, April 12, 2004
There is a wall in Palestine. It is an absolute barrier, 8 metres high, solid and grey. It is dividing everything. It sets apart Israel and Palestine. More precisely, it divides Palestine from Palestine; Palestine land on the wrong side becomes part of Israel.
Qalqilya is in the northwest part of the West Bank, right at the westernmost limit of it. It is as close as the West Bank gets to the warm waters of the med. A large town, 40,000 people or so. In happier times its thriving markets served the whole region. Many of its residents are farmers, who leave their homes each morning to go to their plots and fields. Qalqilya is completely surrounded by the wall. There is one gate giving access. One gate only. It is a prison camp.
Except it isn’t quite that simple. There is another gate, a farmers gate, giving access to fields. The wall is only 8 metres high on the westernmost stretch – elsewhere it is razor wire and trenches. The one gate is
unguarded when Issa drives us in. The truth is harder to grasp than the simple image of giant walls on all sides. And yet, for all that the residents can see the horizon, it is still a prison.
Qalqilya, a Palestinian town of 40,000 people, surrounded on all sides by the wall. This is a view from the outside, showing the southwestern corner of the wall.
We are five – Mark of Olive Tours, Sabine and Jean-Guy, Cal and myself. Our contact is Mahmoud, a Reuters photographer and regular host to visitors such as us. He later shows us photos of New Zealand minister Phil Goff at the wallside. Mahmoud is large and taciturn, but his hospitality is unstinting. We drink sweet tea in his sitting room and look at old photos of his family members, some of them martyrs in old wars. Then we go down to the wall, the western section, eight metres tall.
There is a girl’s school on the way, and as we walk we pass schoolgirls clutching workbooks, whispering to each other as they see us. Some of them fiercely ignore us, while others smile shyly. The school is close to the wall – fifty metres? I forget the distance exactly. Close enough to have been tear gassed in the past. Close enough that the children will see the wall out their classroom windows every single day.
Approaching the wall. The girls’ school is on the left, with the vehicles parked outside. The wall looks very close – but that is because it is far, far larger than you expect. Mahmoud and Mark are in front, Jean-Guy and Sabine arm in arm, and Caroline just in front of me.
The wall itself is remarkable close up. It is taller than I expect it to be. Sniper towers sit at regular intervals. Cameras and motion detectors survey every inch of the wall.
The wall divides farmland. There are a few metres of gravel beside the wall, and then green crops. As we walk along the gravel, a jeep rushes up. A teenage girl with a gun argues with Mahmoud from her seat as her fellows appraise us. The jeep drives off; we walk a few feet further out from the wall, on the gutter between the gravel and the crops.
Alongside the wall, before the soldiers arrive.
On the far side of the wall, we remember, there is a highway. The Israelis driving on that highway don’t have to see Qalqilya. All they see is an 8 metre wall protecting them.
Imagine it as a kneeling giant reaching its arms out, one on each side of Qalqilya. Imagine the giant’s arms casting shadows. Where the shadow falls, that land is claimed. Where it plants its hands, a settlement is built.
At the farmer’s gate we watch the same soldiers from the jeep inspect men and children who are crossing to their fields. A Swiss guy we met on our walk takes photographs incessantly, and the blonde girl who had argued with Mahmoud scowls at him, tells him to stop. He shifts position and keeps going. “Don’t push me!” she yells at him. The gate is surrounded by barbed wire. It is only open for an hour at a time, three times a day.
At the farmer’s gate
From the gate we can see the town of Habla, Qualqilya’s close neighbour. They are separated by the giant’s shadow – the drive there, once ten minutes, now takes ninety. The state of Israel has taken it upon itself to build a tunnel that will connect Qalqilya and Habla. Work has begun; land was confiscated for the project, of course. The residents of Qalqilya found out what was going on through Israeli TV.
They’re building a tunnel to a town you can see from the gate, if you peer over the wire.
As the sun comes down we walk up the main street. It is busy, but not as busy as it once would have been. There isn’t much money left in Qalqilya. People call out to us as we walk: “where are you from?” “you are welcome!”
There’s also a surprising ‘hey dudes’ greeting, which belongs to a New Zealander, a journo named Hayden. He’s in town making a short documentary about the Qalqilya zoo – “cages within cages”, as he says. Cal and I seize on the familiar ground and we have juice together in an outside bar. Hayden
speaks quickly, smiling all the time, and replacing as many words as possible with sound effects. As always with Kiwis on the road, we establish people we know in common a few minutes into the conversation (in this case Cal’s infamous Blenheim Boys).
Then Mahmoud takes us to meet the head of the Palestine Authority in town. I take an instant dislike to him. Everything he says is equivocal, emotive – he is trying to sell us on his own political vision. I have to remind myself that his message is worth evaluating on its own merits. Behind his rhetoric there is a real story of appalling dissolution. Half of the wells into Qalqilya’s water are outside the line of the wall, and now belong to Israel. 6,000 people have left Qalqilya in the last few years.
“They are pushing us!” he says.
If things continue as they are going, this exodus will continue. Perhaps then the giant will finally bring his hands together.
Mahmoud’s lovely children
View from on top of a building in Qalqilya, showing the size of the place.
My favourite photo from the whole trip
NEXT: PALESTINE TRIP 6
Stressy Weeks
Cal and I are both feeling pretty stressed at the mo. Too much to do! It isn’t cool. We’re managing very well, I feel, and the stress isn’t turning into bitter angry HATE HATE BITE DESTROY anything, it’s just an ‘aaargh! too much to do!’ vibe.
We are looking after each other with cuddles and NZ chocolate and the occasional episode of Firefly or season one Dawson’s Creek (which I will defend to my dying day, HAH).
Little-known fact: for an entire year of my job at Massey University, my screen background was a Dawson’s Creek cast shot. I thought it helped me get ‘down with the kids’. Yeeeeah.
At work we have just had a total rebuild of all our PCs. Now we are not allowed any screen backgrounds other than the mandatory blue-with-PC-specifications-on. It isn’t gonna help morale much, but I’m cool with it.
If you’re at all interested in what’s going on in Gaza right now, check out Rafah Kid in my links list – he’s getting regular updates from the field. The comments are pretty interesting too. Some big debates that seem to be staying pretty rational all the time, which is good.
Last night I went to the Opal Lounge, which is big-trendy Edin bar, for my boss’s 29th birthday. It was pretty cool. I was underdressed (typical) but didn’t particularly care (also typical). There were many hen nights. One gaggle of young women from Milton Keynes filled up the area near us, sat around not talking much and sipping drinks, then got up and left twenty minutes later. Luckily the bouncers made them take off the bobble-headbands with spangly penises at the end of the springs. Hen nights are an Edinburgh menace, on account of our ridiculously late licensing laws. (Pubs in England shut at 11, remember.)
Anyway. I have managed to get some good writing done, including an entry for the BBC3 ‘Get Writing’ competition which involves finishing off a very short story by a Famous And Successful Author. I went for horror churn-out-er Shaun Hutson’s one, on account of not having to think so much. I don’t think I could ever be a horror genre author, I don’t have the commitment to grime and misery, but I can definitely do dark’n’scary. I’ll email it to anyone interested once I’ve keyed in all the amendments.
Right. I’ve got to get sorted to go into town and run some roleplaying games for enthusiastic people in this club I started. It is a beautiful day, and I might try and get us to play in the park. Ahhhhh. Park.
Peace to you all. I am reading your emails, and will respond as soon as I can!
Surrounded By Camels
It is hard for the moose to break free; but he may use his antlers. The camels assault the moose with their humps and well-aimed spit but with a hefty hoist, the moose can clear a path!
In the above, camels=stuff to do, moose=morgue. The rest, I should think, is self-explanatory.
I am suckily developing the tingling fingers and achearms of classic RSI/OOS/CTS/that keyboarding thing. Dammit, I’ve been keyboarding this much for a decade without a twinge and nothing has changed that I can think of! Bah. It’s swung in over about the last couple months. I’ve been trying to do everything I can to manage it, but it is still there. Suggestions as to preventative measures very welcome.
Sorry to all whose emails and comments haven’t been getting replies. Been busy. Thanks to all those who have made positive comments about the Palestine account, or have passed the link on to their friends – much appreciated.
Website of the day: via Maryanne Garry, TruthOut.
Palestine Trip 4: Painted Eggs
Up here. [EDIT: DEAD LINK – REPRODUCED BELOW]
PREVIOUSLY: PALESTINE TRIP 3
Sunday, April 11, 2004
EASTER SUNDAY, BEIT SAHOUR
We were in Palestine as part of an organised tour, and this day was scheduled as our own to do with as we pleased. Given it was Easter Sunday, we started off going to church. We were made very welcome – the priest came over and shook our hands at the start – and it was easy to feel at home, as
the atmosphere and congregation were just like those I grew up with. They were dressed the same, had the same friendly warmth, the service was the same, even some of the hymns were familiar. All of it in Arabic, of course, but I knew exactly what was going on the whole time. After the service we
crossed the garden to the church hall where painted eggs were thrust into our hands by insistent smiling teenagers, many people shook our hands and asked us where we were from, and we drank sweet tea. It was great. At the end of the day I still had paint on my hands from the egg. We also found a tree that was either New Zealand’s native Christmas tree, the pohutukawa, or something that gave a very good impression of it. I reckon it was a pohutukawa – I remember from a documentary some years ago
that the trees were growing in odd places here and there throughout Europe.
Easter Sunday in Beit Sahour, and the surprising presence of a New Zealand native tree in Palestine.
SLOUCHING AROUND BETHLEHEM
Cal and I then wandered up to Bethlehem and checked out the Church of the Nativity in daylight, then set off to wander some more, chatting to a few policemen on the way. We ran into Jean-Guy and Sabine, and joined them and Olive Co-op’s Jo and the newly-arrived Mark for a great lunch in Nativity Square. We wandered further, led – somewhat haphazardly – by Jo. It was a great walk, actually, up and down the sloping built-up roads and occasionally breaking out into an open space with another panoramic view of
the surrounding hills. We passed the hotel where stand-up comedian Jeremy Hardy and the ISM stayed in April ’02, as chronicled in the documentary ‘Jeremy Hardy vs. the Israeli Army’. It was good to be able to connect those images of tanks on streets to this place, since it was at a screening of that film that Cal and I first began to think about coming here.
Bethlehem, and the tiny entrance to the Church of the Nativity.
SHEPHERD’S FIELD
We finished up the day with a trip down the hill to Shepherd’s Field, where the angel of the lord came near and gave the shepherds a heads-up about what was going on up in Bethlehem. There was a lovely garden, a nice church, and a fascinating archaeological dig revealing the monasteries that had been
built here over the centuries.
Naturally, we couldn’t get far away from the political angle of our trip, even on Easter Sunday. The sad tales of the taxi drivers, bereft of tourist trade even at Easter, were one thing; seeing the newly expanding settlement and bypass road a few hundred metres from Shepherd’s Field was another. The garden and chapel had been designed to create a sanctuary for pilgrims, but there was nowhere to hide from the ongoing incursion.
That night we all talked for some hours, going over everything that we were seeing and hearing. The truth about the situation in Palestine is that it is overwhelming. It is too much to see at once.
Mark’s blog is at http://www.rafahkid.net/blog.html
Shepherd’s Field, where the Shepherds were told by an angel of Jesus’ birth. There is a growing settlement a short distance away, I think it is part of Har Homa.
NEXT: PALESTINE TRIP 5
Why Angel Is Good And Tru Calling Sucks
I studied memory at university. I loved studying it. I have a pretty good understanding of how it works, and how it doesn’t work like we think it works. (That’s a collective society-type we.)
Last night, before watching the new Angel episode on Sky One, I watched its runup – Tru Calling, a “Buffy-esque” show starring buffy alumni Eliza Dushku. It was crappy. So, so very crappy. But amongst all the crappiness, the bit that stuck out at me and said “morgue! i’m a special shiny bit of crap intended just for you!” was how it handled memory.
Basically, it was about a bunch of med students flatlining themselves to recover their repressed memories of child abuse because, just before you die, your life flashes before your eyes.
Urg. Yuk. Bleh.
So, still no other show to add to Angel as sacred TV time. It really is the only time I watch TV – Angel. I look forward to it all week. Right now I’m looking forward to next week’s one!
Angel, by coincidence, was also all about recovered/lost memory – due to weird supernatural shenanigans, a bunch of characters had a bunch of memories removed, but in this ep it all came back. The bit that caught my attention (“morgue! i’m a special shiny bit of GOODNESS intended just for you!”) was when the architect of the memory-wiping talked about how he had replaced the true memories with false ones…
from a transcript of Angel, series 5, episode 18, broadcast in the US 21 April 04:
VAIL
When Connor was 5, he got lost in a department store. He wandered off while his family was shopping. It scared the poor child nearly half to death.
ANGEL
(leans in, angrily)
That never happened!
VAIL
Yes… but he remembers it happening.
This is a deliberate reference to Elizabeth Loftus’ pioneering study on implanting false memories, which involved convincing children they’d been lost in a shopping mall. It has been at the centre of massive controversy because it stands in direct opposition to Freud-based recovered memories of child abuse.
It really makes me happy to see some of this stuff in the pop media. Freud’s theories make for great narrative, and they keep turning up – recovered memories of child abuse being a mainstay of fiction as they provide a ready-made character arc, complete with shocking mid-arc revelation of hidden truth.
The real facts of how memory work don’t fit the needs of narrative framework too well, and as a result, they don’t turn up much. So I’m glad they turned up this one time – and in one of the best damn TV shows around, to boot.
Thus is it proved: Angel is Good. Tru Calling sucks.