A little while ago, a woman came into the office. She had an appointment with one of my colleagues, who so far hasn't come to work today. I'm worried that he has been stopped at a check point last night when he tried to get home. He didn’t have his driver's license when he had left late after a party last night. If so there will be big problems. 'Ali' often has trouble at check points. At 30, he is the perfect age for trouble. A prime 'terrorist suspect'; or rather a perfect target for inhumane humiliation. Last week he came to work very tired. I kept meeting him in the kitchen, boiling yet another pot of coffee. He had been at the check point until 4am. They (the soldiers) wouldn’t let him through. No explanation was given. He was just refused access to his village; as a Palestinian Man aged 30. He also told me that last year he had been pulled out of a taxi and thrown to the ground, while a soldier stood with his foot on his head. Ali thought he would be arrested. For no reason; as a Palestinian Man aged 30.

Ali still isn’t at work yet, but the woman had come far to meet him. She had traveled 12km she told me; 12 km which had stolen 1 1/2 hours from her Sunday. 1 1/2 hours waiting at a check point. After living in the West Bank for 3 months this is no surprise to me. I cross the check points every time I leave Bethlehem. Although I guess for me it is different. I have my international passport after all. My blessed Israeli visa, giving me rite of passage across Palestine. On Friday I queued at the Bethlehem check point to go to International Human Rights Day in Jerusalem (apparently only 12 other Israelis were aware of this, but that is a different story). The solider was barking orders. He really did bark. I waited in line, behind the old man and two old women who were also waiting. The old woman was upset with what she heard. She let out a stream of objections, which fell on the soldiers deaf ears and upon my 'English' ones. Then he saw me. He stretched his arm up and motioned me forward. I hesitated. Looked at the distressed faces in front of me, and then pushed through. Pushed past these elderly people who had been made to wait. No explanation. No reason. I walked through the metal detector. I passed the solider. British passport in my hand. He didn’t even take it. My visa wasn't even aired.

I walked on. Dodging the muddle puddles, compounded by the waiting feet. I walked past the wall. Past the 'Settlement' on the hill to my right. Past a local woman…"See what we have to endure? See what we have to endure?"…I know. I'm sorry. Look, I'm late, I have to go. Past the man with the shopping trolley full of wood. I always pass him. He recognizes me, "Makaba! How are you!" Fine. "Have a good day!" And he is sincere. He means this. But as I said, this is another story. Or rather this is every time I leave the office. But today, when Maram came to the office I was left feeling even emptier than usual and this is what I want to share.

When Maram spoke of the check points she was telling me nothing knew, although I felt she wanted to tell me. She wanted me to be shocked to sympathize. But I didn’t I just listened. Knowing more or less the exact words she would say next. The words on every-ones lips if you ask them about a journey – any journey. If you ask them about life, here under Occupation:

"I have two children. One son and one daughter. They never go anywhere. Only Battir and Bethlehem. This is the only Palestine they know. They know nothing else. But this is not Palestine. They have never seen the sea. And we are surrounded by 3 seas. We should not be forced to live like this. Every human needs freedom to move. No-one cares. They whole world supports Israel. And why is this? Because they support where the power is and at the moment the power is with Israel – with the US. No-one cares about us. No-one supports Palestine. I don’t think people even know how the Israeli's force us to live. We live alone. In a Prison. Surrounded by walls and fences and check points..."

I tried to tell her that people did care, and it was only the governments who supported…'only the governments'...

I tried to tell her that 'normal' people did know and that they did care and did show solidarity with Palestine, with her plight and with that of her young children. But her eyes continued to fill with tears. Not because she was touched by my reassurance, but by her frustration at being forced to suffer at the hands of this Occupation…

I told her that here at News from Within, we send over 800 magazines every month to people who do know about Palestine, and who wanted real information.

I told her I had cycled here, all the way from London with a group of 17 other people and that we had cycled to show our solidarity with the Palestinian people and that we had passed village upon village collecting support from politicians, from local people, from the media, in order to show people like her that she was not alone…

But I found it hard to look at her in her tear-filled eyes. My eyes felt awkward. I felt awkward. She is alone. I can leave today. I could go to the sea today. My government doesn’t care. My friends and family don’t know…I hadn't …had I?

She thanks me. She puts her hand on my arm. She leaves to go and collect her children. She leaves to stand at a check point.


As I finish writing this article, Ali has returned. He went home to sleep for an hour and over slept. A relief…this time.