'this is our life'

the election finished, the observers returning to their europe, the ballots counted, abu mazen's victory parties winding down...this is only the highly publicized palestine today.

i am staying here with a family whose members, like those in most palestinian families, have been scattered. the diaspora of the hussein family stretches far, from sweden (where the eldest son is raising a childwith his swedish wife, virtually hiding from the israelis who will no doubt arrest him upon his likely return) to dark prisons inside of thewest bank.

the two youngest sons live in these prisons; one is 21, imprisoned at the age of 19, with four more years to go for allegedly throwing a stone at a soldier; the other, slightly older, is serving his second year of a 40 year sentence for allegedly blowing up a hummer. no hummer, according to our graceful host umm hussein (umm means 'mother of'), was destroyed by her son. abu ('father of') hussein is a chief of the palestinian police and comes home each night exhausted. the family supported abu mazen in the election, and has high (i think misguided) hopes about the prospects for actual democracy under his reign. democracy, i suggest, is unlikely under military occupation.

these young men, and others, are in prison because the witness, the judge, and the jury are the same person. so who is a terrorist?

military occupation has not ended here, though the guns and tanks are quiet in nablus today. i am currently sitting in the balata camp in the home of a friend who, two years ago, was released from prison. there are 7,000 like him who continue to rot in these prisons; his sister, who was just released, was one of them for two years. her crime? she dared to challenge the (illegitimate) judge who presided over the (illegitimate) trial of her (innocent) brother. she was summarily granted a two year bid, and yet you'd never know it if you spoke to her. one of the kindest women i have met so far (this is quite an honor in the land of hospitality), she briefly described through broken english and arabic the conditions of the prison.

all i will mention here is that she was in a cell with a woman who had recently given birth. her child spent his first two years in the cell with them, learning first hand and first step and first word what israeli democracy holds in store for him...the child was almost killed when, during a prisoner's hunger strike to demand fair conditions, guards fired tear gas cannisters into each cell, suffocating the adults and poisoning the children. hanan smiles when she tells me this, and i cringe. "this is our life", she says.

to part, the words of palestinian national poet mahmud darwish, capturing what seems to me to be the essence of the palestinian condition. resistance and love through bars, chains and the barrel of a gun.

'on man'
this one with the fetteron
his mouth manacled to death rock:
they said: you are a killer.

stripped of food clothing identity
thrown into death row:
& they charged him with robbery.

the seaports were barred to him. they
abducted his young sweetheart.
then they said: you are a refugee.
* * *
you bleeding at the eyes and the palms
listen. night passes.
the detention room cannot last
nor festoons of chains.

nero died and did not take rome with him.
it would have fought with its eyes.

and a handful of sere grains
can cram the whole valley with new ears.

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and from another darwish poem, 'on wishes':

"To each land there is a Coming.
Every dawn has its appointment with a rebel."