February 14, 2003

After all that, there's still no cassette, so Marthame cut his losses and made his way out of Ramallah. One day's worth of travel in this place could easily make for a novel. While passing through the Qalandia checkpoint, Marthame had his photo taken by a soldier - a nice turnabout, we suppose. Our best guess is that he was assumed to be an International Solidarity Movement activist, so our next time across the international borders should be interesting.

He and the University teacher caught the taxi back to Zababdeh. Sharing the taxi was a young man from Nablus, a new teacher at the University who had spent time in Damascus and was remarkably aware of the diverse Christian community and history in the Middle East. We spent most of the ride talking about religion, particularly about how it is manipulated for violent purposes, no matter what the "holy books" might say.

We didn't even try the Tamasiih checkpoint, knowing that it usually means disaster, but had to deal with another checkpoint along the way. The soldiers forced everyone to stand on the side of the road in the mud (apparently there's something wrong with standing on the pavement). They were far more interested in the two Americans' passports than in anyone else's.

Three passengers knew that it would be questionable if they could get through: an old woman traveling on her Jordanian passport (with no visa - which means she has a Palestinian ID somewhere); the teacher traveling from Nablus to the University, though an ID from there helps; and a young man from Beit Jala married and living in Jenin - his ID says "Beit Jala," which makes this travel (in the opposite direction of Beit Jala) tricky. It was the latter whom the soldiers refused to let pass. The soldier had even given him a way out: "Are you a student?" - that would explain his travel to Jenin though being from another part of the West Bank.

"No," he replied truthfully, but not helpfully for his own sake.

Marthame offered to translate from broken English to broken Arabic. The soldier in charge sent everyone else back to the taxi, then tried to explain the situation. He offered several options: the young man could go back to Bethlehem (under full curfew now), he could go to Ariel (settlement and coordinating office near Nablus), he could send his ID with a friend (Palestinians caught traveling without IDs face a world of trouble). By this time, it was raining and a cold wind was blowing. The young man tried to explain that he's been trying to get his ID changed to say Jenin, but he can't because the only place he can do so is at the Palestinian Authority Office in Jenin which no longer exists. The soldier was incredulous that there wasn't an office in Jenin. "He can't pass. I can't do anything," he said finally.

"Yes, you can," Marthame replied.

"I can? No I can't."

"Yes you can. You can let this man pass. But you don't want to. That's the difference."

With that, Marthame got back in the taxi and the young man gathered his bags, paid the driver for a partial journey, and waited alongside the road for a ride back towards Bethlehem. What's most remarkable is that he was punished for telling the truth, and the fact is that he will get back to Jenin eventually - another road, another soldier, another day...

At the Hamra checkpoint, dozens of cars were waiting and no one was moving. Marthame and the two teachers got out to walk around, coming across a mufti - a muslim cleric. He and Marthame exchanged greetings as religious leaders do in this land. The talk soon turned to politics, as it often does here. A crowd gathered around. "I am glad our American brothers are here to see with their own eyes how we are living," he said to the curious and interested. "I was just visiting with some people in the Authority in Ramallah. I wanted them to come with me without their VIP status to see how we're living here." General nods came all around. "I went out for a drive in Ramallah at 11:00 last night. I went by Stones, Sangria's, these places, and parked out in front were dozens of recent model cars - 2001, 2002. Can you imagine that happening in Jenin?" Someone in our taxi told the mufti about the young man from Beit Jala. Should he have lied and said he was a student? Then followed an interesting discussion of religion, morality, and truth in the face of such examples. When the line finally started moving, it did so quickly, and the taxi passed through without so much as a glance at the various passports and IDs.

Israeli tank in a residential area of Zababdeh.

Back in Zababdeh, two tanks had set up shop: one on the road to the University, the other on the road to Raba, both in sight of our balcony. For about three hours cars were stopped and checked before passing. Around 5:30, the tanks let off plumes of smoke, belched to life, and went off towards Jalame. Welcome home.