Van Rqm 4

The # 4 van line goes through the heart of Beirut. During the fifteen-year Lebanese Civil War, the Green Line divided East from West Beirut. For the most part, it was a no man's land filled with snipers. Most people never approached or traversed it during that time. Today, you can ride up and down the Green Line on the #4 van for L.L. 1000 (67 cents). It starts in Hay al Jamaa next to Hay Sillum in Dahiye and ends at the American University Hospital in Hamra.

For a year and a half, the Rqm 4 was my daily companion. I found that the cheapest and fastest way to get around Beirut was to figure out a servees trip to and from the main Rqm 4 artery. This way I could get anywhere in the city for L.L. 5000 ($3.33).

Crazy things happen and crazy people are to be found on all modes of public transportation in any city. Here's a story of a particularly harrowing van drive in Dahiye.

The ride started with jerky movements--the kind of fits and starts that make you sit up straight and grab the seat in front of you. After a while, an older guy yelled out, "Tawal balek 3lena", loosely translated as, "Be patient, for our sakes." But our chauffeur, maybe all of 19 years, was in a hurry or just wanted to show off. He got onto a major road, crossed the divide and starting plowing down the street against the traffic. The people around me started shouting, "Ma'oul? (Are you serious?) Against the traffic?"

Now for Lebanese people to say anything is a BIG DEAL. They are so used to these crazy traffic antics, they never seem to notice when their lives are in danger. A couple weeks ago, coming back from the Chouf Mountain, the driver was so keen on filling the van (to make more money) that he had a teenage boy sit in his seat, and then he sat on that guy's lap. So the question is: why was I the only one who said anything? I started shouting "Ma'oul? (Are you serious?) Who's driving here?" The other passengers laughed, and asked where I was from. "You must be new here." The sad thing is, I wasn't new there. Four years of this. Shouldn't I have gotten used to it by now?

But back to our cowboy. He didn't stop. We passengers started looking at each other, and sort of laughed at the same time, because the whole situation was so ridiculous. One guy yelled out, "Why don't you just take us directly to the hospital?"

Then our chauffeur entered a tiny alley, and almost plowed into a car that was parked in the middle of the street. (Of course, this is totally normal and to be expected in these tightly-packed neighborhoods.) But Cowboy got out and started yelling at the other driver! in a self-righteous, indignant tone no-less! This made us laugh even more.

When we got to the major intersection that I live next to, I got out and started walking home. Our driver, however, was continuing in my direction. He drove the van up slowly next to me as I was walking and told me to hop in, and that he would take me home.

"Baddee 3eish," (I want to live.) I told him, as I squelched a smile and kept walking, turning my head to look down at the holes and mud that was the street in front of me.

He gave me a goofy, naughty-looking kid, sort of grin and sped off.

Domestic Workers United Rally

On Saturday April 27, 2009, domestic workers and organizers from around the country met up on 5th Avenue and 86th Street for a rally to support passing the Domestic Workers Bill of Rights in the state of New York. They then marched through the Upper East Side with the green-and-black clad Rude Mechanical Orchestra. Here's a snippet of some audacious, flag-waving action:




Some of the chants included:

"Respect and dignity is a right, not just for the rich and white."

"Trabajadores unidos, jamás serán vencidos." (Workers united, will never be defeated.)

"We're gonna beat, beat back the slavery attack."




"Free, free domestic workers. End, end the slavery."

I didn't like the term "modern-day slavery" when referring to the situation of migrant domestic workers in Lebanon. I didn't find it very useful. In New York, it's even more far-fetched. Though there are more than 200,000 women who enter the United States on A-3, G-5, and B-1 visas--as the domestic help of diplomats, foreign nationals, and US citizens living abroad-- many of whom could be living in imprisoned, abusive conditions.





And out of the blue, they just threw in: "From Iraq to Palestine, occupation is a crime." This is ironic, considering one of the partner organizations was Jews for Racial and Economic Justice. (See their banner in the photo.) I know all Jews aren't Zionists, but I wonder if these guys are. . .



The Rude Mechanical Orchestra played a slightly funky version of "We shall overcome."



And then they ended the march at John Jay Park with the Domestic Workers Electric Slide. Someone had composed some verses to go along with the Boogey-Woogey-Woogey.

Venezuelan arepas

Venezuelan arepas are not like Colombian arepas. Colombian arepas are bigger and thinner; I’ve seen them made outdoors on a barbecue. They both use harina P.A.N. that comes in a yellow bag. I watched my grandma’s sister, Tia Carmen, making them in Plano, Texas on January 4, 2009.

Ingredients:
Harina P.A.N. in the yellow bag
Salt
Butter
A good skillet
Toaster oven

1) Put about three inches of water in a mixing bowl, and some salt.

2) Start pouring in the harina P.A.N. little by little, using your hand to mix it. Keep pouring it in until it becomes the consistency of Play-Doh. Keep kneading it throughout.

3) Make balls. (You might need to wet your palms a little.) The balls should be about as big as your hand is cupped when your thumb is touching all four other fingers. Leave them in the mixing bowls.

4) Put a skillet on the stove and set it on high. Let it get hot.
(The skillet is key. It needs to be the right thickness and work well with your stove. If that combination doesn’t work, the arepas won’t come out right.)

5) Put butter on the skillet. You can use the diet, fake butter spray.

6) Between your palms, smash the harina balls and flatten them into little, thick pancakes, about the size of your palm. With your thumb, go over the outside edges to make them smooth.

7) Let them sit on the skillet for at least 15 minutes, turning them every once in a while. It takes a long time for them to cook. They should slowly turn brown. They should not burn at all. If they do, the skillet isn’t thick enough.

8) If you want to eat them right away, put them in the toaster oven at 150 degrees for about 5 minutes. If not, put them in the fridge, and then put them in the toaster-oven when you’re ready to eat them.

9) Slice the side with a knife. Steam should come out. Put butter, white cheese, perrico, or whatever else inside.

Guacamole Recipe

Since so many of you have asked me. . .

I learned the proper way to make guacamole from Ana's mom and grandma in Cayuga, Guatemala.

1) So the most important thing is the quality of the avocados. If they are hard, you can put them in a brown, grocery bag which will help them ripen faster.

2) Start with a big bowl and a cheese grater. Take a small onion (it can be white or red) and grate it with a cheese grater. This will create a lot of liquid.

3) Chop up a small tomato. It doesn't have to be super-small, tabboule-size. You don't have to add in all the juice into the bowl with the onion.

4) Add about three teaspoons of lemon juice and a lot of salt. Stir up the onion/tomato/lemon juice/salt mixture. (Actually, I kind of have no idea about the quantities. . . .I know, I know, what kind of recipe is this?)

5) Some people add fresh garlic (beat with a mortar and pestle). But I don't. I think it's too strong. You can also be daring and put in some chili powder, but be careful!

6) With a big spoon, chunk out the avocado, keeping the chunks as big as possible. And leave in the pits. (It helps keep it from going brown.)

7)With a fork, blend in the avocado with the mixture. Keep it chunky. Avoid at all costs liquidy guacamole.

8) Chop us fresh cilantro finely, and put it on top. Don't mix it in. Some people gag from cilantro, so you want them to be able to get to the guacamole that hasn't touched it.

The Lemon Tree (Movie Review)

The Lemon Tree depicts the core conflict that daily confronts the Israeli people: How much human suffering must be incurred in order to ensure reasonable security? Israeli director and co-screen writer Eran Riklis's newest film opens with the Israeli Defense Minister moving into a new house right next to the Green Line dividing Israel from the West Bank. The Secret Service forces him to cut down the lemon grove of his widowed Palestinian neighbor, for his family’s safety and "because a terrorist might cross into Israel through the grove." The protagonist, 45-year old Salma, played by Hiam Abbas, has grown up with the lemon grove that her father planted 50 years earlier. Besides remittances from her son in the US, it is her only source of income. When it is decided that it must be destroyed, Salma, “the Palestinian Erin Brockovich” as Riklis dubs her, fights it all the way to the Israeli Supreme Court.

Before last night's screening at the Jewish Community Center on the Upper West Side, Riklis claimed that he wanted to depict the lives of real people, that he wanted to get past politics, that showing the reality is the best hope for the future. He hopes that the film would hit viewers at an emotional level. This reality made it unpalatable for many Israelis, though it received accolades at film festivals throughout Europe.

It is surprising to see an Israeli director, with funds from the Israeli Ministry of Culture, make a movie that brings to light such an appalling feature of Israeli state policy. With the construction of the Security Wall between the West Bank and Israel, more stories of uprooted olive trees have come to light. It's not a new policy of the Israeli state. In the movie itself, we hear that "1,000 (have to confirm this number) trees have been cut down in the last three months." But ultimately, no one but an Israeli could have made this movie. By reinforcing the same stereotypes and scripts about Palestinians, and vindicating Israel's policy, the film ultimately props up an Israeli agenda, and like most of the media, makes a just and peaceful solution to the Arab-Israeli conflict even more untenable.

The central tension of the movie is played out in the relationship between the two female neighbors. Throughout the movie, they look at each other silently through the recently-constructed wire fence. They have chances to speak to each other, but it only happens once. Surrounded by the media and her husband, Mira, the wife of the Israeli Defense Minister, apologizes for stealing some lemons when the caterer for her house-warming party forgot to bring some. Later in the movie, Mira climbs the fence to visit Salma in her house, defying the security guards.

Mira is complicated. Though the viewer anticipates her being drawn to the side of her neighbor, she initially supports her husband's decision. Later, at her party, she is the one who hears the terrorists in the grove, before the first grenade is thrown. As an audience member, you see her dilemma, which is the dilemma of all Israelis. She emotionally connects with her fellow lonely female neighbor, but at the same time she is concerned for her own safety.

Mira is the one who tries to make contact with her neighbor--by being the only one who speaks and by climbing over the fence. In every interaction, Salma remains absolutely silent. The puppy-dog, victimized, almost blank look on her face didn't change throughout the film. It reminded me of Frodo in Lord of the Rings. I kept wondering, how long must we, the audience, be subjected to that pitiful gaze? And the one time a private, personal connection could have been made, Mira (having climbed the fence) sees Salma through the kitchen window, heaped over the counter, weeping. Salma is an object of pity.

In the Q & A period, I questioned Riklis about this depiction of the protagonist. Before the screening, he said he enjoyed working with Hiam Abbass so much in The Syrian Bride (2004) that he wanted to create a new script where she could be the showcase star. And she was in all the trailers and reviews. And yet, he smothers her. She is the stereotypical Arab woman, who for the most part is silent (until her big, moving speech in the courtroom at the end of the movie.) Her disempowered condition is seen in her inability to communicate with or understand basic things that happen around her, since she doesn't speak Hebrew. She must rely on the men to translate for her. (Abbas in The Syrian Bride is a fully bilingual person in her bicultural environment.) Like any Arab woman, she shows her affection and love by making food and cleaning.

She’s also a little strange. She wakes in her bed in the middle of the night, hearing the sounds of the fruit dropping when the grove has not been tended. (It hasn't been tended because the Secret Service enclosed it with a fence and forbade her to go inside. She still sneaks in, though.) She's so ingrained in her traditions, in her poverty, in her land, and she's so lonely that she feels that she should be part of the wolves’ clan that she hears at night coming from the ravine below.

I can identify with Mira. She has to deal with conflicting loyalties. She makes unexpected decisions. She shows courage by attempting to reach out to her neighbor.

But I can't identify with Salma.

The biggest emotional punch for me in the movie, however, was the scene where Salma started throwing lemons at the wire fence. It was the same scene I've seen my whole life—Palestinians throwing rocks against tanks. She’s the crazy, irrational, violent, stubborn Palestinian fighting for her survival against a juggernaut with absolutely no realistic expectation of changing anything. Her fighting in the Israeli judicial system is the same example, though non-violent. Is she an Erin Brockovich? or an irrational, stubborn victim, continuing to fight when all the odds are stacked against her? Her Palestinian lawyer also fits the stereotype--exploiting this case and the surrounding media coverage to land a job with the Palestinian National Authority. Because according to the stereotype, Palestinians don’t try to really help each other, they, instead, use each other for personal advantage.

Other members of the audience seemed to think that the budding romantic relationship between Salma and her young lawyer showed her chutzpah, as well. I strongly resist the tired plotline of a woman oppressed by her traditional society finding her liberation in a sexually illicit affair. Thankfully, Riklis spares us from that.

The director seemed genuinely surprised, and slightly offended, by my comment that I felt that Hiam Abbas's character was static and stereotyped. "How else could I have depicted her?"

That question, for me, sealed the deal. . . This is what it comes down to—

In his eyes, a Palestinian woman really isn't a person. How can she make her own decisions? How can she do something that would surprise an audience member? How can she have internal conflicts with uncertain resolutions?

"You don't know what it's like; that is their society. Those women can't make decisions. They are subjugated by their men. This movie shows her as a hero. How likely would a Palestinian woman stand up for herself?” Riklis said to me.

He believes that Palestinian women cannot stand up for themselves, that they have no voice. It’s the same oft-repeated line of reasoning: that instead of taking responsibility for the effects of their policies, Israelis blame the victims. This line of reasoning follows to a certain conclusion; it goes like this: It is the Palestinian men who keep their women down. It is the Palestinian Muslim terrorist extremists who keep the Palestinians subjugated by fear. These pathetic creatures can't take care of themselves, because their leaders take advantage of them. Therefore democracy doesn't work for them. Therefore we are justified in occupying them.

Presenting Palestinians as objects of pity, as irrational, non-civilized people allows the powers that be to maintain their position. As long as Israelis truly believe that they are better than the Palestinians, they will never leave them to rule themselves--and truly be a democracy, the “only democracy in the Middle East” as they like to call themselves. It is their white man's burden.

I wondered at the beginning of the movie, if it would end with the emotional wallop of bulldozers destroying the lemon grove. Nope. The Israelis being the ultimate just civilization come up with a well-considered nuanced solution that balances all the considerations. The fact that a low-status Palestinian woman even gets her day in court is a testamest to the progressive Israeli society.

But even though the Israelis come off as being ultimately reasonable and clever, the whole premise is fundamentally flawed. There is a legal precedent about "moving to the nuisance." Basically, the Israeli Defense Minister decided to move into a house next to a lemon grove. It was his choice; he didn't have to live there. This isn't a case of eminent domain. So it is unjust to touch her lemon trees, considering he decided to move next to a "security risk."

When I asked the director, "What were the Palestinian critiques of the movie?" he replied, "I don't really look at people's opinions to see if they're Palestinian, or European, or Israeli. It's a human film."

He didn't answer the question. He either didn't know, or just didn't want to say. I think he just didn't know. He did acknowledge at the beginning that it was not favorably received in Israel. Apparently he didn't seek out the opinions of Palestinians. Perhaps because the co-writer of the script is Palestinian, the main actress is Palestinian, and he likes to think of himself as a progressive person who doesn't really harbor any discrimination and racism. Who doesn't like to think of himself as free of discrimination and racism?

The color-blind stance, however, is a position of power. Only the powered majority can use it, such as white people in the US and Israelis in Palestine. Rilkis didn't intend to make a racist (ethnicist?), ultimately destructive movie. He really thought he was doing good. But by presenting and reinforcing the same stereotypes of the Other, the powerful maintain their power. It is what it is—a movie directed by an Israeli, funded by the Israeli government. It ultimately serves the purposes of the Israeli State by vindicating and justifying what critics would claim to be heartless, unjust policies.

Pillow Fight Distraction

On April 4th, the Bail Out the People--Not the Banks movement staged a demonstration on Wall Street. But somehow, at about the same time, it just so happened that the World Pillow Fight Day was being staged also on Wall Street. What an interesting coincidence?!?!



It was kind of cute––seeing people smack each other with pillows, feathers flying everywhere, even into our 12th story apartment. Police were out in full force. Every once in a while, they would yell over a blow horn to have people move out of the way to allow an emergency vehicle to pass.

In Lebanon, demonstrations were always kind of scary. With all the crowds, and no police really, I was always looking for potential escape routes. This didn't have that same kind of feeling. But I knew there was something sinister about it. It makes perfect sense for those Wall Street Fat Cats to distract the people from the protests against them.

A peaceful demonstration. A successful distraction. God bless America!

In Memory of Martin Luther King, Jr:
Announcing a
National March On WALL STREET
April 3 while Wall St is Open;
continued April 4

Assemble at 1 pm Friday, April 3
at the Intersection of Wall & Broadway, and at
12 Noon Saturday April 4 at Wall and Nassau
(The Stock Exchange)
Bail Out the People Not the Banks!

Israel's economic warfare on Palestine

This was buried in an article about the effects of remittances on development and international politics.

"Controls on remittances as a form of economic warfare have been most evident in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. In 2000, Israel drastically reduced the number of work permits for Palestinians because of security concerns and instead imported roughly a quarter of a million foreign workers, mostly from East Asia and Africa. Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza saw their gross national income per capita decline by about 30 percent in 2001 and 2002 combined. In contrast, remittance outflows from Israel tripled in the 1990s, to nearly $3 billion in 2001."

--Devesh Kapur and John McHale, "Migration's New Payoff", Foreign Policy, Nov/Dec 2003, p. 55.

Why it’s hard to concentrate

I’m checking my e-mail at an Internet café that’s part of a Filipina restaurant. Behind me, the owner is helping her 4th grade son with his English homework. In a shrill voice, she’s explaining the difference between singular and plural, while running back and forth to the kitchen as she’s preparing food. Her explanation and her own English grammar is somewhat lacking. I feel a slight pinge of guilt and an even slighter impulse to intervene, but I ignore it, while I continue checking my e-mail.

Her son is concentrating. He’s really trying to understand and get all the worksheet “problems” correct. The shrill voice doesn’t seem to bother him. This isn’t her normal voice. It’s her English-teaching voice. I find it shrill and grating; her son must be used to it.

At the table next to them, Palestinian husband/dad is smoking shisha with his three friends, joking loudly in Arabic. Instead of the regular hose, however, he’s using a bamboo stick. I’ve never seen anyone smoking arguile through bamboo.

People walk in and out, announcing themselves with a “Come sta?” or an ironic “Salaam wa lekom” which induces laughter.

Soon enough, the karaoke might start. It'll be hard to resist belting out my faves--"Me and Bobby McGee", "Ice, Ice Baby", "Baby got Back" if I'm feeling particularly obnoxious, or "Take a Look at Me Now" if I'm feeling particularly depressed. And since it's Filipina's, I can also choose from some Christian classics, like "Amazing Grace."

I’m grateful that no one’s asking me to help. They know “auntie” is an American who teaches English. They also know that “auntie” charges a lot of money for her services. So I’m left to the computer with all the normal mayhem behind me. The wall is a mirror, so I can just look up and check out the action. This is my new favorite spot.

I hadn’t seen Marie in weeks

I saw her today. Usually in the mornings, when I’m eating, I stand at the window and look for her. If it’s after 7, which is when the mom leaves with the kids, she’ll stand at the window. We’ll balcony talk, or she’ll just signal me to go into the hall where she can open the door.

I hadn’t seen her in weeks. And I don’t think I made any major change to my routine. She wasn’t coming to the window. A couple days ago, Lilu, the Sri Lankan woman who cleans for us twice a week, told me that another Lebanese woman saw me talking to Marie and the other Malagasy woman who lives on the other side of me. So that even though I was trying to be so careful not to get anyone in trouble, I probably got Marie in trouble.

When I saw her today at the window, she told me to come to the inside hall, where she opened the door. She is still trapped inside the apartment by an outer iron gate. But through the bars of the gate, we can talk and pass things back and forth. She said she really missed me. She was smiling and really excited to be talking to me. She said that the madame is actually good. It’s just the kids who are very bad—“tres bravade” (or something like that.) They kick her. They insult her. “You’re black. You’re ugly. You smell.” So instead of being abused by the madame (the one who statistically commits most of the abuse), this woman is being tormented by a three and four-year old.

The last time I had seen her she had asked me to bring her perfume. I brought her deodorant instead, which she was happy with.

Then she wanted to pray. We held hands through the iron bar. I started in English. She finished in Malagasy. I kind of hugged her, and then kissed her on the cheek. I told her I was leaving, and that if she needs anything she can ask my roommate or Lilu. Tears were shed. Allah m3ha.

Sunday's Sit-In for Migrant Domestic Workers

We put it together in a week and a half. Check out the media coverage and the pictures: Al Akhbar, Al-Mustaqbal, As-Safir, iloubnan, Facebook.

We had a fun time making the posters, thinking of appropriate slogans that would be edgy enough, but not invoke completely defensive reactions. Since it was on the occasion of International Women’s Day, we said “Migrant Domestic Workers Rights = Women’s Rights= Human Rights”. Then we did personal-ish statements along the lines of, “I worked for three years and never received my salary.” A particularly weird, fun, thought-provoker (and personal favorite) was “The Mister Beats Madame Everyday.” I made that poster.

“F--- this racist, backward country!” was suggested by a friend in an e-mail. But I didn’t suggest that in the meeting, so as not to throw off our Lebanese-foreigner coalition. (But I still get a good hoot thinking about that one!)

When an Ethiopian woman showed up to the café to work on the posters, we got the idea that they should be in different languages. So Hayeon went to El Dorado to recruit some Filipinas to get some posters written in Tagalog. The day of, we got some Sri Lankans to write other posters, right on the sidewalk. The other organizers told me 20 posters would be more than enough. I made 35, and they were all used.

About 100 people came, which the other organizers were very surprised and happy about it, but still left me disappointed. I was hoping there would be more migrants. On Tuesday, I went around the Filipina section of Hamra with Liberty, another Filipina. We put posters on the walls and talked to shop and restaurant owners. Sometimes we were met with suspicion, "Why are you helping us?" Other times, we were met with sincere enthusiasm: “The government is really going to change?” “You think the Lebanese will really care about this?” “Thanks for helping us.” And then I’d be invited to sit and eat. It helps A LOT to be an American. Once they realize I’m not Lebanese, barriers go down, and a certain level of trust is extended.

My main East African organizational contacts were all booked. The Ethiopian churches had a big mission conference that weekend. The Malagasys were having a meeting with their consulate in Dora. The Sudanese had a big funeral. But since it was going to be in Hamra on a Sunday, I figured we could just get random passers-by the day of. That didn't really work. Of course, people were thrown off by the cameras.

Out of the almost 1000 people on our Facebook group, and 77 confirmed guests, about 5 new faces showed up.

When I told the other organizers I made 400 copies of the fact sheet, I was met with, “Wow, Jane, thinking big.” We ran out after 40 minutes, and someone had to make more. Someone said, “100.” I said, “200,” knowing that wouldn’t be enough. I was right. We handed out all the copies. People in their cars were stopping, asking for the papers, curious about what was going on. Demonstrations and protests, with people holding up funny, colorful signs isn’t too common a site in Lebanon.

Shout outs go to the Feminist Collective (for rallying tons of supporters in cool, black T-shirts), the AUB UNESCO club (for donating funds), IndyAct, CRTDA and Kafaa (for officially sponsoring it), and to Nadim from Human Rights Watch (for all his moral support and vision).

Now, it's time to plan for May Day!