Paths of peace!

Let’s follow the path to peace and fellowship!

By Mary M. Bennett

Last May, six women from the Worcester area joined “Follow the Women,” the largest peacekeeping mission in the Middle East.  Over 300 women from 28 different countries began a 320 kilometer bike ride for peace that started in beautiful war-torn Beirut Lebanon, and continued through parts of Syria and Jordan; over the Allenby Bridge to the West Bank cities of Jericho, Ramallah, Nablus and Jenin. 

In 2003 Detta Regan, a Nobel Peace Prize Nominee started the FTL bike ride as a way of showing solidarity with all women living in the Middle East and to bear witness to the suffering of the Palestinian people.  Most importantly was the hope that this simple and provocative act of women riding bicycles through the Middle East would instigate a greater dialogue, especially between the Palestinian people and Israelis, and also enhance our understanding of their struggles. 

This was my second ride with FTL.  There were 10 members of the US Team.  Octavia Taylor, the US coordinator for FTL and her husband Steve, who kept our bikes in working order (yeah Steve!) along with Cheryl Wolfe, Kathleen Walker, Betty Poynton, Karen Kappes and this writer, Mary Bennett, we represented the Worcester area.  Kimberly Mander from Colorado, Laurie Moser from Vermont, and Marci Brown from Maryland were usually a half mile or more in front of me! 

As I huffed and puffed over the mountains, and there were many of them on this 12 day journey that often began at 7 a.m., with 6 hours more or less of cycling, and more hours of speeches, wonderful banquets, and dancing till my feet hurt; I would get on my bike the following day and tell my sleep-deprived self, “it’s for peace Mary, keep pedaling!”

Lebanon:
Our first ride started at the top of Mt Lebanon, over 3,000 feet.  I thought the Mt Lebanon ride would be mostly downhill and we did ride downhill for some break-burning distance but most of the ride that day took us through small towns along the mountains and then down to the beautiful coast of the Mediterranean.  Hundreds of people greeted us along the way with song, dance, food and words of welcome at the beginning of the ride and throughout the day.¦lt;br /> Again and again as we traveled on our bikes through the Middle East this scene of welcoming hospitality continued.  What I heard from the people was a consistent desire for freedom and peace and what seemed to me to be an often desperate desire to have their stories told; their suffering understood. 

People like Khaled from Jericho.  Khaled came to Lebanon to meet an Uncle he hadn’t seen in 26 years.  FTL visited Camp Shatila, a site where 3,000 people were killed in 1982.  Khaled and his family fled the violence when he was a child and they eventually settled in a refugee camp outside Jericho.  Khaled teaches nonviolent civil disobedience to the people living in the West Bank. 

We also rode through the Bakaa Valley, an area rich in arable land and water; two precious commodities in the Middle East. 

Dear Beirut had changed from my visit last year.  There were checkpoints and more soldiers all around.  We were all sickened to hear fighting broke out a few days after we left Lebanon.

Syria:
Our group crossed the boarder into Syria.  We had several rides on Syrian highways.  The roads were closed for our exclusive use and I wondered how the Syrian people felt about our monopolizing them.  We also stayed in 5 star accommodations which was a jarring contrast to the dire poverty of the Iraqi and Palestinian refugee camps a few miles away from the hotel.
We had an emotional visit to the Al Husainia Refugee Camp.  There was a sea of people greeting us.  I locked eyes with one woman and her two grandchildren.  She spoke some English and she identified herself as the principal of the School of the Martyrs, one of the schools within the camp.  She told me her family fled Palestine 60 years ago and they have lived in this refugee camp since. 

60 years living in concrete structures, dependent on the U.N.  I saw no trees, grass, play grounds and I did not see any glass windows.  Sheets were hung to create some privacy.  She told me her sister was living in Ramallah but she was not allowed to go visit her. 

That is the plight of the many refugees we met.  They have limited rights and their numbers overwhelm their host countries.  Many of them would love to return to Palestine but the right to return is one of the greatest obstacles to the peace process.

The most hauntingly sad ride for me was through the uninhabited town of Quaitra in the Golan Heights.  The town was completely destroyed by bombs and I wondered if my tax dollars had helped pay for the destruction. 

Thankfully, we were bused up to the Shouting Hill.  At the top of this mountain people shout across to their loved ones on the other side.  Families separated by war and occupation - that is the reality for many people living in the Middle East.

Later that day, we were ushered into the palace of Mrs. Asma Al Assad, the First Lady of Syria who helped sponsor our ride in Syria.  She shook hands with everyone in the room and offered to have her picture taken with each country.  When she met us we were with our Iranian and Palestinian teammates; she then quipped, “Ah, I see the Axis of Evil is here!”  Perhaps she was also letting us know that she found this rhetoric hurtful?  We proceeded to have our pictures taken together as the Axis of Friendship instead, and she agreed.

So, the Iranians, Syrians, Palestinians and U.S. posed for our official portrait.  It was a proud moment.  Good for her for making it possible!

Jordan:
From Syria we crossed the boarder into Jordan.  Queen Rania helped sponsor the Jordanian ride.  In Jordan we did not have the highways to ourselves.  I found myself elbowing trucks, which really freaked me out.  Beirut by Bike gave us fantastic support and helped manage the traffic and gave us any needed assistance.

Our last evening in Jordan was at the Dead Sea.  I slept on the sand or was it salt.  Salt was all I could taste and feel when I woke up.  As we looked over the water we could see the hills of Jerusalem, Bethlehem and the occupied territories, our next destination.

West Bank:
At last we were on our way to the West Bank.  After a long wait with our bikes at the Israeli-controlled boarder we were allowed to cross the Allenby Bridge.  No stopping - there are mines on both sides.  We rode into Jericho and I did not mind the 110 degree heat. 

Khaled met us and suggested we see some of the City on foot because of the heat.  Conditions are better in Jericho because the Palestinian people have more control of the area but not of their water.  Khaled and others explained how so much of the water had been pumped by the Israelis that there was “no more sweet water left, only brine.”  Now they are buying water back from them.

We moved on to Ramallah, a jewel of a city at the top of a mountain; I can understand why they are fighting over it. While we visited Yesser Arafat’s tomb, several young men talked to us about their experiences under occupation.  One man said  his town is completely surrounded by a portion of the 450 mile, 25 foot plus concrete wall being erected by the Israelis.  People can come and go for only a few hours in the a.m. and again at night.  He said his only hope was to leave his town.

All around, on so many of the hills, you could see shining new towns settled by Israelis.
It is a huge land grab that is gaining increased scrutiny by the international community.  Reading about the settlements is one thing; seeing so many of them all around helped me understand what a pressing problem these settlements are for anyone interested in peace.

We also experienced one of the most difficult checkpoints to cross - the Houwara.  They breezed FTL through the area but most people are not so lucky.  Not knowing how long or what will happen at these checkpoints is part of the reality of everyday life in the West Bank.

FTL also spent a night at a former Israeli prison camp where Palestinian boys were interrogated - it is now a youth hostel.  One of the survivors spoke about the torture he endured.  The number of people held in one small room, naked, no toilets, no blankets.  It is horrible what we can do to each other. 

We also biked to Al Najah University, the highest point in Nablus. We were again greeted by folk dancers and words of welcome.  The story of one man stood out for many of us: 

Saed Jamal Abu-Hijleh received his Masters Degree in the States and he intended to get his Doctorate but first he went home to visit his mother for the summer.  He got around by bike and he decided to give his bike to his friend’s son when he returned to school.  That summer, Saed’s mother, a peace activist, was shot in her home by Israeli soldiers.  Saed said his life was now upside down and he was too grief stricken to go to school. He gave the bike to the boy at his mother’s funeral.  Two weeks later the boy was shot in the knees while riding his bike.  That incident inspired the poem he read to us:

My Fast Bike
I rode my bike,
He rode his F-16 and tank,
I sang my song,
He shot me and gained his rank.
I am the terrorist, he is the victim!
I am a martyr now and did not go to school,
He is the civilized one and I am the fool.
No matter what I say, his story is right,
Everyday he tells you “terrorism we fight.”
My tree uprooted, my house blown,
My land confiscated, my grandmothers moan…
I am imprisoned, they cut my flesh, they break my bone…
Do not kill me today I have a better option,
Let us race and see who is faster,
The one who wins becomes master,
You on your tank I on the bike,
He who reaches first to the Land of Love,
Will tell the story for the coming generation.

Saed also told us he would like to come to the States to finish his studies but since the death of his mother he has been denied permission by the US government to come. 

Outside the city of Jenin we broke into small groups and stayed with Palestinian families.  We had the delight of staying with Mutee’ah, her sister and their children.

Through tears she told us how her husband is now gone for months at a time because he can no longer come home after work.  Part of the 450 concrete barrier-wall is now in back of their home.  Her husband has been working at the same factory for many years.  It was a 5 minute ride.   She said now it is against the law to be on the other side of the wall.  When her husband travels home, an arduous journey, he risks arrest when he returns.  She said he is sleeping on the floor of the factory when he is not home.  Her sister’s husband is now in jail for getting caught going to work at the same factory! 

Back to Aman Jordan:  A Palestinian Wedding.
We said our goodbyes to the West Bank and traveled back over the Allenby Bridge to  Aman Jordan to wait for our flights home.  I met up with several Iranian friends and they encouraged me to attend a Palestinian wedding being held in one of the Refugee camps outside Aman for a few hours.   I dressed conservatively, long sleeves, pants, head covered.  When we arrived lights were strung between the narrow streets and loud music played.  Men and boys only were dancing and talking.  As women, we were not allowed to go near the festivities on the street.  Instead we walked around the party.  As we did so, I walked ahead of the group and turned round to talk to my companions.  One of the men scolded me loudly saying “It is not good for a woman to be independent!” 

Up several flights we found the women of the wedding.  Most were no longer covered and they glittered with makeup and fancy clothes.  I tried to take pictures, but they became distressed so I put my camera away and danced.  But my dancing also distressed one of the women as she yelled, “Arabic dancing, Arabic dancing” and she grabbed my hips and tried to help me move as she thought I should.  Poor thing, she gave up in disgust but we had fun anyway!

So many of the stories we hear in our own media focus on the very real concerns the people of  Israel have in maintaining their safety and these concerns need to be honored.
The Palestinian side of the story does not appear to be as widely understood here in the U.S. To have a meaningful dialogue their needs and stories must be honored too.

Having more women join the Follow the Women bike ride for peace is a wonderful way of showing solidarity with other women living in the Middle East and will certainly help you learn more.  Of course, you don’t have to travel so far. I highly recommend Al-Jazeera or Democracy Now, two media sources willing to broadcast the other side of the story.
¦lt;br /> Salaam and Shalom.