Flotilla, Take Me Away

Enjoying my morning ritual of reading the New York Times while drinking coffee and eating breakfast, I was taken by an article about the Greek Coast Guard turning back the American boat, Audacity of Hope, and seven other boats setting sail from Greece for Gaza to challenge the Israeli blockade. I could not help but snicker as I wondered how the Greek government could spare the Greek Coast guard in the midst of economic and social upheaval. There were suspicious reports of identical damage on two of the boats with the expected round of accusations, allegations and denials from all sides. I found myself irritated as I read the statements of the activists, many traveling from the United States, Norway, Ireland, Sweden, Canada, Spain and the Netherlands to make the symbolic journey to Gaza, and equally annoyed by the official comments of the Israeli government. At this stage of my life, the grand gestures of outsiders pale in comparison to the daily resistance, courage and struggle required by those who live and remain in the vortex of conflict long after foreign activists return to the comfort of their homes.

Earlier this week a friend sent me an article from the Guardian by Alice Walker explaining her reasons for joining the freedom flotilla carrying letters of support. Walker’s premise was touching, paying tribute Jewish civil rights workers who faced danger, and for an unfortunate few, death to join black people in protests and voter registration drives in the Deep South. She also recounted a story told by her former husband who was harassed and taunted by a gang of boys who took his yarmulke and threw it over the fence. Two black boys came to his rescue, punked out the bullies and made them dust off the yarmulke before placing it back on is head. A more extensive reading on Walker’s blog provides an accounting of her experiences traveling through the occupied territory and Israel. None of it surprised me; I have seen the massive wall, experienced a palpable tension when entering the West Bank and felt myself in the crossfire of a very personal moral and political conflict. I keep up with what seems to be to be a litany of loosing propositions including on and off again peace talks, the continued building of settlements and terrorist attacks on both sides that include the enemy within.

I am not an idealist when it comes to the Middle East, or anywhere else for that matter. There is a level of complexity and historical context that most folks would rather not delve into, and perhaps worse, have no knowledge of. Count me out of the discourse if it omits the remapping of the Middle East masterminded primarily by the British and the French with the Sikes-Picot Agreement in 1917 after the demise of the Ottoman Empire and conclusion of World War I, the carving out of nations that in some cases resembled a “Let’s Make a Deal” for oil and in others a careless line drawn across a play map with the strategic placement of dictators who are only now being deposed. If outrage is restricted to the plight of Palestinians when Israel was established with no mention of the over 800,000 Jews who were driven from the Arab nations they called home for centuries with only the clothes on their backs then I got nothing to say.

I called my friend Kansi on Skype who sent me the Alice Walker article. I needed a face-to-face discussion. Allow for silence. Stare at each other if need be. We are from different parts of the world – he from Senegal and me from America, he is Muslim and I am Jewish. However, we are both artists that share a passion for community art practice. We worked together in Senegal and now he is an Artist in Residence in Mart, Texas where I initiated an arts and humanities project that was in large part inspired by our work together in rural Senegal. There were instances when our beliefs and personalities collided with such intensity we both might have thought about walking away from each other for good. We didn’t though, and I can say with certainty we are better for having held on. Our mutual respect has created a foundation for authentic exchange without fear of reprisal or rejection, with no need for uniform agreement that offers us the opportunity to understand the world from a different perspective.

I told Kansi about the article in the NY Times article and the irritation it provoked towards the saviors from afar, the do-gooders who seem to latch on to causes in remote locations when their house is in need of cleaning. The night before I saw a docudrama about Darfur. During years of mass murder, rape and pillage I didn’t see anyone (including Alice Walker) tripping over themselves to cross the Janaweed to deliver letters. Even with a signed agreement, Sudan continues to be ravaged by murder while just this week China welcomed President Omar el-Bashir, the brute force leading the rein of terror on the African Sudanese and firmly in control of the oil supply. And Sudan is but one example in the African continent where bloodshed and political turmoil have oppressed and suppressed people while dictators treat resources and capital like their personal bank accounts. It seems that black African lives are cheap and expendable compared to the billions spent on so called nation building in Iraq and quelling Al Qaeda in Afghanistan. However, after the fact when genocide subsides, resources pillaged, and mass starvation arrives at a temporary conclusion, we act blindsided and offer feeble apologies. What exactly does “Never Again” mean?

Americans and Europeans do not have to travel to Gaza to battle injustice with so much at play in their own countries. America stands at a crossroads, on the verge of being hurled 40 years backward on hard fought gains such as abortion rights, affirmative action, collective bargaining and worker’s rights, and loss of basic services during a time of record unemployment while the wealthy and corporations pay little or no taxes. We could have used a freedom flotilla when state workers in Wisconsin were protesting the loss of collective bargaining and the Democratic members of the legislature were in hiding across state lines. If President Obama, Democratic leadership in Congress, and progressives don’t pull out all the stops and show some backbone, this will be a nation of the fortunate few in ways we have not seen since robber barons had free rein and the Great Depression gutted the lives of a majority of Americans.

These problems are not America’s alone; we live in an intricately interconnected global economy. The Europeans are eating humble pie after years of criticizing us on racism and the right leaning government polices of Regan, Bush I and Bush II. I even took heat for Clinton’s Bosnia policy when I was in Greece as if I was part of his Cabinet. We are ridiculed for being the only Western industrialized nation that refuses to offer universal health care for all our citizens - and rightly so. Things have changed; however, my European friends whose countries shall remain nameless lament they do not recognize their country anymore as a tide of xenophobia and extremism inches further and further to the right. I would wager a small bet that if the anti immigration folks could, they would build a wall taller and longer than the one in Israel to keep those seeking entry out.

Having spent enough time in Europe, with Europeans in West Africa, and as a resident of a country still grappling with a post-colonial country legacy, Kansi knew all too well the mentality I was referring to. The “immigration problem” has the chickens coming home to roost in Western European countries. Their wealth was built on the backs of free and cheap labor as it was in America; the difference being the slave trade they participated in was not evident in plantations and slaves on their soil. The game has switched up though, as people from their former colonies and beyond flow into their borders legally and illegally, seeking a reprieve from the poverty and political oppression they helped create. Karma is a bitch.

Kansi said he understood my irritation, and while he was sympathetic, he also recognized the need to take action against injustice. Life would be so much simpler if the line of demarcation between good guys and villains, right and wrong, and truth and fiction were indisputable. I am in favor of a two state solution in Israel; however, I am not drawing up terms for a peace agreement in a paragraph. The situation is far too complex. And besides, other than express my opinion as a Jew emotionally attached to the survival of Israel who am I to say? My children did not serve in the Israeli military nor does my son get called up every year to ensure the existence of a Jewish state for us to run to in the event Never Again becomes Here We Go Again.

Part of the irritation I felt while reading the Times article had to do with the a sense of entitlement and privilege I have observed with the fixers and rescuers who are often white people with little to loose in the countries they impose themselves on. If we have learned anything from the Arab Spring, it is the power of self-determination with minimal interference. My vested interest in Israel rests on the premise that I have never ruled out a possible reversal of fortune for Jews in America or anywhere else in the Diaspora. My daughter Rena called me today to tell me she was going to synagogue. She shares my political stance for the most part, and though she is critical of Israeli government policy, Israel is the place she feels most comfortable as a black Jew, not the United States of America where she was born and holds citizenship.

In the end Kansi and I concluded that salvaging our humanity is our most important and courageous act, regardless of divergent perspectives or conflict. Walls have been erected and torn down, borders drawn and replaced by new ones. Ultimately we are compelled to extend our reach beyond the confines of predisposed destinies to offer our children and ourselves a more humane and productive existence. I was in Jerusalem in 1977 when Anwar Sadat spoke before the Israeli Knesset. We danced in the streets full of jubilance and hope, witness to what was never thought possible. Flotillas have set sail in every direction, past and present, and they continue to cross the oceans with stories to tell and lessons for us to learn. As the mother of children whose ancestors traveled across the Atlantic from West Africa in slave ships and from Eastern Europe escaping pogroms and oppression on boats packed full with immigrants, I have to sail through my own mental blockade and hold out the possibility that lightening can strike twice. And when it does, I hope it will be Rena in Jerusalem this time, the home of her Jewish soul, witnessing what no one thought possible.