Versions of the Story.

[Fair warning: I am about to get a little academic on you. But bear with me, I promise there is a relevant point.]

In my Politics of Human Rights class, we have been reading some of Foucault's lectures on knowledge and power. One of the main foci of Foucault's thoughts is what he calls subjugated knowledge, a concept that encapsulates a couple of different facets. First of all, subjugated knowledge refers to historical contents that have been buried or masked by the formal systemization of thought [or in other words, the information that didn't make it into the "textbook" version]. Additionally, subjugated knowledge includes low-ranking knowledge from less privileged sources—not necessarily common information, but that which has been considered inadequate for various reasons.

This subjugated knowledge is like another layer of knowledge, below what usually gets seen and heard and taught. It differs from the "official" version of history, because it comes from sources that do not have the power to determine what makes up the dominant narrative. This, however, is exactly what makes it important to carefully consider. In explaining the value of subjugated knowledge, Foucault highlights the way that it primarily reveals a history of struggles. Paying attention to the "story behind the story" often brings to light the political complexities, moral qualms, questionable motives, and general ugliness that the official version glosses over (or simply leaves out).

Allow me to offer an example that I think most of you can relate to: the founding of America and the celebration of Thanksgiving. Let's think back for a minute to the story we learned in elementary school--you know, the one with the peacefully interacting pilgrims and Native Americans and the paper turkey hats. Most of us were told something along the lines of persecuted Europeans coming to America to find freedom and build a country of equality and opportunity for all, then celebrating this with the native people in a harmonious, collaborative feast. This is the "official" version, or perhaps the more palatable one.

However, the knowledge that has been subjugated in this example is not so pretty. When we look at sources from Native Americans (who clearly do not hold a position of power or privilege), we hear a very different story. Their version is marked by profound pain and almost unfathomable oppression. The founding of America for them meant being stripped of their land and killed en masse, continually exiled and suffering until this day. What is found in this subjugated knowledge is a history of struggle. Paying attention to this matters deeply because of what happened then, but also because of the lasting maltreatment occurring now.

This same framework can be applied to hundreds of examples, but I want to think about it now in relation to the context of Israel and Palestine. My intention at the moment is not to get into the historical/political details of it all, but simply to begin asking the right kind of questions. In my experience, it seems like most people have a general idea that there are different versions of this story depending on the side you are listening to. The main problem I have witnessed, however, is that one side is being listened to far more than the other, often without the listeners being aware of this imbalance. This can largely be explained by the power dynamic at play, considering that those in power also have power over knowledge [what the news reports, how the history books read--basically which story is told]. And in this situation, no one can dispute that Israel and America (as Israel's closest ally) are in obvious positions of power over Palestine.

I am not suggesting that we should automatically consider everything that the powerful say to be a lie, but I am firmly asserting that we need to listen more closely to the voices of those that are pushed down, the ones that hold the subjugated knowledge, if you will. We must put in the extra effort it takes to look for this version of the story, in order to more accurately understand the history of struggles that searches like this almost always reveal. This is what I hope to do during my time here in Palestine, and what I invite all of you to process through as well.

Now, because you stuck with me through such a serious post, here is a pretty picture that I took last week on the way home from school (the day before the snow storm, I might add):

Snow Days in East Jerusalem.

I have many fond memories of snow days as a kid: waiting in anticipation for the snowflakes to start falling, celebrating when school gets cancelled, soaking in every bit of snowball-throwing and snowman-making potential, then retreating inside for warmth--cold and wet, but happy as can be. The past few days I got to experience that snow day magic with a Palestinian family, and it was wonderful.

I ended up getting "stuck" at a friend's house in East Jerusalem after missing the chance to catch the bus home before the roads closed (although I think this may have been an intentional move by my friend's three younger sisters who didn't want me to leave, haha). I can't even tell you how much fun all of us had together during what turned into a three-day visit. I think I may have been formally adopted into their family by the end of it :)

Seriously though, I don't think I have ever experienced such incredible hospitality. I probably gained three pounds considering all of the delicious home-cooked traditional meals and sweets I was graciously (and endlessly) served. I am pretty sure they asked me at least 40 times if I had everything I needed--including warm pajamas, extra blankets, and even boiled water to take a hot shower (a luxury in my experience here). Of course, they provided all of these things regardless of my continual insistence that I was fine and already so grateful for all they had given me! Such sweet, sweet people.

One thing I have learned about Palestinian families is that they are almost always together, often with a steady stream of visits from neighbors and extended family who live nearby. This sense of community is a beautiful thing (and something I feel many Americans could learn from). I loved experiencing this firsthand, with the added enhancement of having no internet available. We spent the entire time really together--playing outside in the snow, watching movies, telling funny stories in a mix of English and Arabic, cooking and eating, and laughing a lot. I taught all the kids how to play the card game "spoons" (completely in Arabic, I might add) and it was a huge hit. Then we all spent the night together in the room that they share, slumber-party style :)

As for the playing in the snow part, we quickly got wrapped up into a neighborhood-wide snowball fight, in which I seemed to be one of the most popular targets. "Hey Cait! Hey Cait!" ...pounded with snow balls from all directions... My favorite was when this one kid came running towards me saying "Ahlan wa Sahlan!" ["welcome!" in Arabic], with a snow ball in each hand. Thankfully, their attention eventually shifted to hitting passing cars, which was hilarious to watch. At one point, I started filming (and got asked if I was going to send the videos to Obama). Please enjoy:

My last day there, the girls really wanted to take me to see the al-Aqsa mosque, which is about a 20 minute walk from their home. They were so excited to share this with me and I was beyond grateful for the opportunity to be guided to such an amazing place. They helped me to put on a hijab and gave me a history lesson and explanation of recent political events along the way. What a special experience--to be able to stand in that place, and to feel like a part of this family who welcomed me into something so precious to them.

Dome of the Rock, with some remnants of snow

One Month In.

Today marks one month since I packed my bags and flew across the world to this foreign place that is beginning to feel like home. At some point recently, I reached the "oh yeah, this is where I live now" phase. Its good to feel more settled here, as I think the transition from "excitable tourist" to "normal person just living daily life" brings with it some important shifts in perspective.

I could write some serious thoughts about this, but I'm not sure I'm up for that right now. Honestly, its been a heavy week and I'm in need of a bit of an emotional break at the moment. So I think I'll keep it light and share with you a list of some unexpected things I have picked up over the last month...

1. A new name & nationality. Caitlin is a bit difficult to pronounce (as there isn't a great way to spell it in Arabic), so I have started to go by "Cait." This has gone pretty well so far, except for when people yell "Cait!" to get my attention and I don't respond for like five minutes, but I'm working on that. As for my nationality, basically everyone here assumes that I am German, so sometimes I just go along with it. Oh and apparently, by Palestine standards, I am also a blonde--leading to the nickname "Blondie" (not sure how I feel about this one).

2. A snobby attitude towards American hummus. Yeah, hummus in the states has officially been ruined for me forever... There is just no comparison. If you need a better understanding of this, you should probably watch this video: "All About That Paste"

Real hummus

3. Public transportation life lessons. Although this facet of my life here has resulted in some mildly traumatic experiences, I've gained some invaluable lessons along the way. I mean, when stranded in a foreign city with no money, phone credit, map, bus schedule, or contacts, you have got to learn to think on your feet. Roll with the punches. Hold back the tears. Be willing to ask for help. Make some mistakes and move on. And last but not least: look on the bright side of things. Hey, riding in seven different vehicles for three hours to travel a distance of ten miles provides plenty of opportunities to make new friends, right?

4. Hilarious attention from children. Unlike adults who are [usually] more discrete with their staring, kids are not as adept at hiding their curiosity towards the strange American/German. One night, I was at a restaurant sitting near a table of about eight young kids with their parents. I kept looking up to find them staring at me, then quickly turning away when they realized I noticed. After a little while, they got more bold and started "sneakily" walking past my table to get a closer look. One kid even hid behind the staircase nearby to peer around the corner in my direction. At this point, I figured I better wave a friendly hello and introduce myself. Once the ice was broken, I was literally swarmed by a mass of children asking me about forty questions in Arabic all at the same time with these huge grins on their faces. Definitely the highlight of my day :)

5. A newfound appreciation for postal service. Y'all, it is crazy that people in America can just click on something on Amazon and find it on their doorstep the next day. Mail is just not really a thing here. Perhaps that is because addresses are not really a thing here. One time I asked my host family for their home address, and they said, "Uhh, across from Al-Radi market, down the street from the shawarma place?" Somebody please try to send me a letter with that written on the envelope.

6. Creative reasons not to go to class. In addition to the excuse of sometimes legitimate weather hazards (ranging from intense dust storms to "its just too cold today"), students here sometimes call strikes against the administration and collectively boycott classes. Unfortunately, they sometimes forget to tell the foreigners about this... Needless to say, I was very confused by the empty campus that one morning and got reprimanded by the "student strike police." Oops.

I hope this gives you a picture of some of the ridiculous situations I find myself in just about every day. Nothing like a little comic relief :)

Knowing.

To strive to be aware,
with open eyes and open ears,
an open mind and open heart...
Is this the path to knowing?

Or is knowing something deeper,
not possible to be acquired
through the words on a page,
or on their lips, in their faces?

Privilege, defined: not having to know.

Not having to know the heartbreak
of exile, betrayal, loss of homeland,
childhoods sacrificed on both sides
of a seemingly endless state of war.

Not having to know the ache of hunger,
the shrapnel of bombs, the hopelessness
of stolen histories, identities, heartbeats.

In that my knowing is a choice
rests its ultimate limitation, and yet
herein also lies a pivotal invitation.

Into sadness, anger, confusion, pain...
Not my own, but nonetheless owned
by this humanity that is mine to hold.

At times I wish to know no more,
but oh, how true to say that some
do not have this luxury of wishing.

Privilege, defined:
a responsibility to knowledge--
if only in part, this is better than none. 

Introduction to Israel.

This weekend is the first instance that I am spending any significant amount of time in Israel. I am here now to attend a two-day meeting with an organization that I am interested in working with (more on this later). The meeting is taking place in a small village called Nes Ammim, basically in the middle of nowhere in northern Israel. I took about 15 different forms of transportation to get here (this is only a slight exaggeration). Thankfully, all went [mostly] smoothly--thanks to hours of thorough research done ahead of time, much of which consisted of just barely getting information that I really needed (but didn't know I needed until I got it). For example, I learned that almost all public transportation in Israel shuts down mid-day Friday and all day Saturday due to the Shabbat (the Jewish sabbath/ holy day). Also, the East Jerusalem Central Bus Station is not the same as the Jerusalem Central Bus Station located about a $10 taxi ride away. These would be some important things to know...

Anyways, moving past the "fun" adventure of public transportation in foreign places, my time in Israel so far has held quite a bit to take in. Honestly, it's been a bit jarring at times, as I wasn't prepared to experience such culture shock. I was surprised by what a difference emerged crossing over from Palestine to Israel, despite the spatial proximity of these two places. In some ways I immediately felt more like I fit in, as there are far more Western people and conveniences here (in fact, driving along the tree-lined, multiple-lane highway, I almost thought I was back in America for a moment). However, simultaneously I felt somehow less at home, perhaps because I am much more familiar and comfortable with Arab culture (also I don't understand any Hebrew, so that could be a contributing factor). What a strange paradox to experience. 

Before making my way to Nes Ammim, I spent the day & night in Haifa (through a connection with a friend of a friend--thanks Lydia). I took the opportunity to do some solo sightseeing, with my trusted companion, the "Lonely Planet" guide book to Israel and Palestine (thanks again Lydia!) There is a convenient (free?) bus system that runs all throughout the city. I'm really not sure about the free part, but I couldn't figure out where to pay, so I may or may not have stolen bus rides all around Haifa yesterday. 

My favorite place by far was the top of Mount Carmel overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. I took a "sky lift" sort of thing up the mountain (add that to my list of modes of transportation), and was met by one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. Seriously it was gorgeous--especially at sunset. 

Some other observations from my first day in Israel: 

--This place seems to be incredible diverse. I noticed quite a few Ethiopians on the train, walked through an historic German colony near downtown Haifa, viewed the beautiful gardens and monuments sacred to the Baha'i faith, and ate dinner at a Romanian restaurant. It is interesting to think about the varying reasons that each of these groups are drawn here.

--There are young Israeli soldiers in uniform all over, very mixed in with the civilian population. Also there are some dressed in civilian clothing carrying weapons as well. Frankly, it is quite shocking to see a young woman around my age texting while waiting for the bus with a machine gun in her lap. 

--I'm not sure how accurate this is, but there seems to be more outward displays of religious devotion within Israel (people reading the Torah on the bus, carrying prayer shawls, wearing traditional dress and hairstyles). Of course, there are plenty of more secular Jews as well. Also, my perception could be a bit slanted considering signs of devotion to Christianity or Islam are more familiar to me, and thus less noticeable. 

--Lastly, I was struck by how easy it is to forget about (or be unaware of) what is going on in Palestine while here. I mean, there is the reminder of the aforementioned military presence, but in general I feel that it's easy to be disconnected. This is similar to how easy it is not to be cogniscent of poverty while living in relative wealth in America.

Where I am now--you have no idea how happy I was to see this sign

Defining Occupation.

A van full of students on their way to class,

arbitrarily stopped by the armed men in green.

Passports handed over, but they take their time--

laughing, smiling, joking amongst themselves.

The passengers inside remain silent, stone-faced.

"You're really students?" they ask, or rather, taunt.

"Fine you can go" [but only because we let you].

"What is the purpose of this?" I question with anger,

"beyond harassment and systematic degradation?"

Beyond an assertion of the alleged superiority

of one 20-something, one people, over another?

I ask a classmate later, and this is all that I am told:

"Ah this, this is the occupation."

*Please know that I feel hesitant to post something so political, to step into the middle of a conflict that I do not [and will not ever] fully understand, to speak of this struggle that is not my own. I know that the story is far more complex than this snapshot. I do not claim any conclusions and hope to share more context with time. However, I am making the choice now to tell of what I experience with my own eyes and ears and heart, as honestly and accurately as I am able.