The Left Berlin News & Comment

This is the archive template

Radical Berlin in 12 Cemeteries. Part 1 – Historical Events

We can a lot about Berlin’s radical history by looking at who’s buried in its graveyards


04/10/2023

Berlin has a long and radical history. In the past 200 years, it has experienced 3 revolutions, 2 World Wars, fascism, “state socialism” (which had little to do with actual socialism), and a flourish of ground-breaking art (most notably during the Weimar period in the 1920s). Berlin’s graveyards are, therefore, full of radicals who left their mark on the city.

This is the first of 2 articles aiming to give you a brief introduction to some of the people and events which shaped Berlin. This article concentrates on historic events, while the second will introduce some radical artists who are buried in the City.

The 1848 Revolution (Friedhof der Märzgefallenen)

Photo: unknown, German Federal Archives

1848 saw the first Europe-wide movement for freedom, democracy and social justice. A wave of revolutions demanded civil and political rights for the growing middle class. Towards the end of February, demonstrations in France led to the abdication of King Louis-Philippe. The next month, Austrian chief minister Prince von Metternich was forced to resign.

On March 13th – the same day as the demonstrations which brought down Metternich – the army in Berlin killed one person coming home from a meeting. Five days later, thousands of people took to the streets and put up barricades. 270 people were killed in the fighting. Most of the dead were young and poor. They included 11 women and 10 children.

On 22nd March, a “state funeral from below” was held at Gendarmenmarkt. 100,000 people attended – a quarter of the population of Berlin. 183 coffins were taken to the “Friedhof der Märzgefallenen” in the Volkspark Friedrichshain. In 1919, an extra 33 Berliners who were killed in the November Revolution were also buried here.

At first, it seemed that the March revolution had achieved its aims. Prussian king Frederick William IV – who had watched the “state funeral” from his balcony – agreed to the demonstrators’ demands, including parliamentary elections, a constitution, and freedom of the press. He also approved arming the citizens and releasing Polish prisoners.

But by late 1848, the army had regained power. The king dissolved the Prussian National assembly in November, and introduced his own constitution. An assembly was set up, but voting rights were very much dependent on how much money you had. 20% of the male-only electorate voted for two-thirds of the representatives.

Propertied Middle class men had shown that they were prepared to fight for their liberties, but not for those of their “underlings”. German workers had to wait another 70 years until they were able to take part in a revolution of their own.

The Matrosen Uprising of 1918 (Parkfriedhof Marzahn)

Photo: Phil Butland

In 1918, Germany was war-weary. The First World War had been dragging on for four years, and the original enthusiasm was waning, particularly among those on the front. In August 1917, 350 sailors on the Prinzregent Luitpold demonstrated in Wilhelmshaven. Their leaders were jailed or killed by firing squad. The response of the other sailors was to build secret workers’ councils.

On 24th October 1918, Admiral von Hipper ordered the fleet into the English Channel. The war was already lost, but he thought that this suicidal act could improve Germany’s position at the post-war bargaining table. This caused a mutiny – first in Wilhelmshaven, later in other ports. The mutiny was put down and more people were imprisoned, but resentments continued to grow.

On 1st November, 250 sailors and stokers met in the Union House in Kiel, demanding the mutineers’ release. The police closed the building. Thousands attended a meeting the following day. More demands were added, including better food. As the demonstrators moved towards the prison, soldiers shot at them, killing seven. Protestors retaliated. The German Revolution had begun.

On 4th November, sailors’ and workers’ representatives met once more in the Union House. They formed a soldiers’ and workers’ council, which issued 14 demands known as the Kiel Fourteen Points. These included the release of all political prisoners, no launching of the fleet, and the removal of all officers who did not support the newly formed soldiers’ council.

The Parkfriedhof Marzahn contains a memorial to the revolutionary sailors, and the graves of the brothers Fritz and Albert Gast. After a failed general strike, the Gast brothers – mutinying sailors who had also taken part in the Spartacus Uprising – were murdered, along with 9 other workers, by right wing Freikorps troops.

The 1919 German Revolution (Zentralfriedhof Friedrichsfelde)

Photo: Phil Butland

The uprising of the Kiel sailors provoked similar demonstrations across Germany. Workers and soldiers took control of several cities, including Bremen, Hamburg, Hanover, Cologne, Leipzig, and Dresden. On 9th November, as soldiers and armed workers marched through Berlin and the Kaiser fled the country, Karl Liebknecht – who had only recently been released from prison – proclaimed a new socialist republic.

Almost simultaneously, SPD minister Philipp Scheidemann proclaimed a much more bourgeois republic from the balcony of parliament. Newly appointed Chancellor Friedrich Ebert contacted the army generals, who agreed to work with the new social democratic government to restore order and put down the revolution.

SPD leaders provoked the premature Spartacus uprising, and then sent in right wing troops from the Freikorps, who would later develop into Hitler’s storm troopers. Liebknecht was arrested and shot in the back of the head while “attempting to escape.” His fellow revolutionary leader Rosa Luxemburg had her face smashed in by a rifle butt and her body was thrown into the Landwehrkanal. The social democratic press falsely claimed that she’d been killed by an angry mob.

Events in 1918 and 1919 concluded an apparently abstract debate which Luxemburg had been having with SPD theoreticians like Eduard Bernstein and Karl Kautsky. Whereas Bernstein and Kautsky had advocated piecemeal reform, Luxemburg insisted that “people who pronounce themselves in favour of the method of legislative reform in place… of social revolution, do not really choose a more tranquil, calmer and slower road to the same goal, but a different goal.”

History proved that Luxemburg won the theoretical argument, but she paid for it with her life- Ebert’s counter-revolution arguably paved the way towards Hitler being offered the Chancellorship in 1933. Luxemburg is buried in the Zentralfriedhof Friedrichsfelde, alongside Liebknecht and many other revolutionaries including artist Käthe Kollwitz, DDR leader Walther Ulbricht, and leading Communist Ernst Thälmann who was murdered in Buchenwald concentration camp.

1953 Berlin Workers Uprising (Urnenfriedhof Seestraße)

Honorary grave for the victims of 17th June, 1953. Photo: Queryzo, CC4,0

In March 1953, the state run East German trade unions agreed to a “voluntary” increase in work quotas. Work was increased, and real wages fell by as much as a third. On 16th June, building workers held a sit-down strike opposing these attacks on their living and working conditions. As they marched towards the party headquarters, workers from other building sites started to join them.

What started as a purely economic strike started to develop political demands. The protestors chanted the slogans: “Workers Join Us! Unity is Strength! We Want Free Elections!” On 17th June, strikes broke out throughout East Germany, in at least 700 cities and villages. The strikes involved an estimated 1 million workers, or 10% of the population. School students struck and prisons were stormed.

25,000 Russian troops were sent into Berlin to put down the uprising. Martial law was declared, and all gatherings of more than 3 people were banned. Strike leaders were imprisoned, and some were executed.

The causes of the 1953 uprising have been disputed on the Left. In particular, people who saw the Eastern Bloc as not quite as bad as the capitalist West insist that the insurrection was organised by the CIA to destabilise the new Eastern Bloc. I don’t agree. I’ve written more in an article about Berthold Brecht’s reaction. I believe that workers are capable of organising themselves whether or not their bosses claim to be socialists.

Remembering the insurrectionists has become akin to a game of political football. The street which runs from the West was almost immediately renamed the Straße des 17. Juni. This had nothing to do with supporting workers fighting exploitation and everything to do with Cold War politics. The Urnenfriedhod Seestraße is a little more nuanced. Workers who died in 1953 are buried close to those who resisted the Nazis. We should reject the propaganda and celebrate their struggle.

Rudi Dütschke, 1968 and the SDS (St-Annen Kirchhof)

Rudi Dutschke’s grave in St Annen Kirchhof. Photo: Mutter Erde. CC4.0

1966 saw the election of a Grand Coalition between the SPD and CDU, led by former Nazi-Party member Kurt Georg Kiesenger. The following year, on 2nd June, the Shah of Iran visited West Berlin, provoking a huge counter-demonstration. Police shot at demonstrators, killing Benno Ohnesorg who was attending his first ever protest. Karl-Heinz Kurras, the policeman who shot Ohnesorg in the head, was later acquitted of any crime.

10,000 people attended Ohnesorg’s funeral, led by student leader Rudi Dutschke. A radical youth movement started in Berlin – partly because West Berliners were exempt from military service. This movement quickly spread throughout Germany. In February 1968, the SDS – the student organisation of which Dutschke was a prominent member – organised an international Vietnam conference in West Berlin which attracted activists from across Europe.

The right wing Springer press made Dutschke public enemy #1, with Bild Zeitung running headlines like “Stop Dutschke Now”. On 11 April, Dutschke was shot and nearly killed by a right winger. The student movement responded with mass demonstrations, including 40,000 in Berlin on 1st May Just over a week later, student protests in France were accompanied by a mass strike of 10 million workers.

For a short period, the movement started to generalise. In summer 1968, West German trade unions called demonstrations protesting against the new Emergency Powers Act. In 1969, an SPD government was elected which put pressure on unions to dampen down militancy. While strike days in 1967-71 were 161 per 100 workers in Italy and 350 in France, in West Germany the figure was only eight.

The SDS collapsed in late 1968. Dutschke rebranded himself a “patriotic socialist” and – like many of his contemporaries – joined the Green party. He died in 1979 of complications from his shooting. He is buried in St Annen churchyard, not far from the Free University where he studied.

Ulrike Meinhof and the Red Army Faction (Friedhof Berlin Freifaltigsfriedhof III)

Grave of Ulrike Meinhof. Photo: Mondrian Graf Lüttichau. CC2.0

What do you do when a massive social movement dies down? This was the question confronting many German Leftists in the early 1970s. In 1970, the Red Army Faction was formed, quickly dubbed by the press as the Baader-Meinhof group after two of its leading members: petty criminal Andreas Baader and radical journalist Ulrike Meinhof. They started by setting fire to two department stores in Frankfurt-Main before going on to assassinations and bank robberies.

Meinhof articulated the RAF’s strategy: “If one sets a car on fire, that is a criminal offence. If one sets hundreds of cars on fire, that is political action.” This sounded radical, but was quite different to the attempts of the French student left to unite with striking workers. In Germany, the number of people on the street was already receding, and in the absence of a mass movement, the RAF tried to substitute themselves.

The German state started to win back the upper hand, passing the Radikalerenerlass in 1972 – a law banning left wingers from public sector jobs. In the same year, the main leaders of the RAF, including Meinhof, were arrested, and later sent to Stammheim Prison near Stuttgart. The RAF prisoners went on hunger strike, but were no longer able to appeal for the support of a mass movement.

On 9th May 1976, Meinhof was found hanged in her prison cell while she was awaiting trial. Her death was reported by the authorities as a suicide, but not everyone was convinced. On 17th October, all other imprisoned RAF leaders met a similar fate. Baader was reported to have shot himself in the back of the head – prompting Martin Rowson’s cartoon captioned: “Andreas Baader adds being double-jointed to his other crimes against the West German state”.

At the entrance of many Berlin cemeteries. you see a list of the famous (and less famous) buried in their grounds. You’ll see no such list in the Freifaltigsfriedhof. Ulrike Meinhof lies there almost unnoticed among the other bodies. You may disagree with her strategy but she represents Germany’s post-1968 idealism and a desire to change the world. She deserves better than this.

Harvesting Resilience: Foraging and Guerilla Gardening

A workshop series by Zeren Oruc


This workshop series gives you the opportunity to rethink your relationship with nature, food, and consumption. You will be able to connect with different people in an exchange of skills, knowledge, and thoughts.

What is this workshop about?

The Harvesting Resilience workshop series is part of a long-term research project focusing on the food-land-culture relationship to examine the impact of our food production and consumption habits on the environment, land degradation, and forms of exploitation. Curated by Zeren Oruc, the project looks at how we eat our land, our cultural and emotional connection to food based on where it’s grown, and less extractivist practices such as the disappearing knowledge of foraging, food banks, gardens, and more.

By using foraging and guerilla gardening in “community gardens” as one of the artistic and curatorial methodologies, the workshops intend to decolonize and reclaim urban landscapes and ecological narratives through the lens of BIPOC and people with migration backgrounds. While tackling mainstream Western environmentalism that dismisses indigenous and migrant knowledge, we want to relearn and share our knowledge in relation to the plant world and form new connections where we feel safe in nature. To facilitate the generation of this intergenerational and intercultural knowledge, we invite participants to join us, along with their elders*, in remapping Berlin’s foraging paths and sharing their experiences.

The workshops will be guided by curator Zeren Oruc, who is revisiting her place in gardening and foraging after relocating to Berlin, and horticulturist, forager, herbalist, and kochende Gärtnerin Lea Nassim Tajbakhsh. On the first day of the workshop, we will go on a guided foraging tour where we get to know each other and share our knowledge. On the second day, we will meet at Oyoun’s community garden for an intimate discussion about food and belonging in nature, and revisit the idea of community gardens through guerilla gardening principles.

*The term “elders” here refers to older individuals who possess wisdom and knowledge to share and are not limited to family. You are welcome to join us with a neighbour or someone you might want to learn from. If you don’t know such a person, join us anyway, maybe you will connect with someone.

Dates:

Saturday, 7th October: 13:00 – 15:00 h (Treptower Park)

Sunday, 8th October: 11:00 h – 14:00 h (Oyoun Garden)

Language: English

Ticket: FREE ADMISSION!

The workshops are open to those who self-identify as BIPOC, and are limited to 10 people. For any questions or inquiries, please contact the curator at zerenoruc(at)gmail.com

Please come prepared for any type of weather conditions with warm/water-resistant shoes and raincoats.

Programme:

DAY 1: Harvesting Resilience: Waving stories through foraging

A guided workshop about the fundamental principles of foraging, local plants, their use, and sharing knowledge and stories. We will meet at Oyoun’s garden for a warm-up conversation and have a foraging walk.

Please come prepared for any type of weather conditions with warm/water-resistant shoes and raincoats. If you would like to collect plants and herbs on the go, we recommend bringing a pair of scissors and a canvas bag or a small container.

DAY 2: Harvesting Resilience: About the gardener

A discussion-based gardening workshop about our rights to green spaces, gardening communities, food, and more. We will meet at Oyoun and use a portion of the garden. Please come prepared for any type of weather conditions with warm/water-resistant shoes and raincoats.

Our Berlin, Our Home, Our Law: The Deutsche Wohnen & Co. Enteignen Campaign is Back

DWE launches campaign for a legally-binding referendum to expropriate the city’s big landlords and socialize housing


03/10/2023

by: Maria Cofalka (on behalf of Right to the City & the DWE Campaign)

Maybe you’ve noticed those yellow and purple posters that have started to return to surfaces all around the city. Perhaps you’ve recently seen posts circulating on social media about the Enteignen campaign. But a big question remains: didn’t we already do this?

Indeed, you may recall that back in 2021, the Deutsche Wohnen & Co. Enteignen movement (DWE for short) held a referendum to expropriate the city’s corporate landlords, namely Deutsche Wohnen (which is part of the multinational, Vonovia Group). The referendum won with 59.1% of the votes – an historic, landslide victory of which over a million people voted in favor. (It’s also worth noting that these numbers don’t even account for all the people in Berlin who are not eligible to vote, such as the roughly 20% of adults who hold foreign passports.) 

Despite the widespread popularity of expropriating big landlords, it may come as no surprise that the city’s politicians have been evading its implementation. For one, the Red-Red-Green  coalition governing Berlin at the time of the referendum appointed an expert commission to review the campaign’s proposal to expropriate, pledging to support it if they found it to be constitutional and feasible within the city’s budget. Many regarded this maneuver as a political sleight of hand to delay and ultimately sink the proposal in the trenches of German bureaucracy. 

Last June, however, the commission’s assessment was resoundingly positive in favor of the campaign. Not only did they find expropriating the city’s big landlords to be legally sound, but they actually recommend it as an appropriate measure in addressing the housing crisis here in Berlin.

But that’s not the only obstacle that’s cropped up since the referendum passed. Earlier this year, the city also had a change of administration to the more conservative Groko coalition headed by the first CDU mayor in 20 years. Unlike the previous coalition, party leadership has made no such promises to honor the referendum – despite the expert commission’s endorsement and more importantly, regardless of the will of the people who voted for it. But we aren’t going to back down. 

Why a second referendum? 

The housing crisis has only worsened since 2021. Anyone who lives here is well aware of the perpetual search for a flat – accompanied by lines around the block at apartment viewings, sudden evictions, scams and sketchy landlords – as we bounce every few months from one sublet to another. Not to mention that this year alone, rents in Berlin have risen by 27%, making it the second most expensive city to live in following Munich. Many of these conditions are underpinned by the fact that more than 150,000 flats are owned and managed for a profit by large corporations like Deutsche Wohnen. They are invested in increasing rents as much as possible while cutting costs on building amenities and necessities that make our homes livable.

As the politicians have shown us, we certainly can’t rest on our laurels if we want to see these things improve. This is why the DWE is launching a second, legally-binding referendum to pass a law to expropriate the city’s corporate landlords. Over the next months, the campaign will be working closely in collaboration with lawyers and other legal experts to draft the new legislation.

The law will consist of two parts:

  1. Enteignung: the city will buy back apartments from the large, corporate landlords in Berlin – specifically those who own more than 3000 flats – at a price based on the fair-rent model. In practice, this means that 240,000 flats will be taken back from the big landlords and placed into public ownership.
  2. Vergesellschaftung: refers to the socialization of those apartments, which will mean placing them into the control of the people who live there. 

Why expropriate in the first place?

A recent report by the Rosa Luxemburg foundation found that socializing housing in Berlin will lower rents by 16%. Expropriation will also mitigate the effects of gentrification by keeping housing affordable throughout the city – rather than relegating those who cannot afford rising rents to the city’s outskirts. Most importantly, it will remove our homes as a source of profit for parasitic corporations like Deutsche Wohnen. These are things that other proposed solutions, such as merely building more flats, cannot achieve. 

In fact, over the last 20 years, politicians have already tried to placate us with business-friendly half measures meant to address the situation, but these have also failed to stave off the crisis we are living in now. There was the rent mirror (Mietspiegel), which imposed limits on the price of rent per square meter, but it has been scarcely enforced – as many of us continue to pay rents that are illegally high. There was also legislation meant to create rent protection zones (Milieuschutzgebieten), which has been insufficient in curbing the displacement of locals due to rent spikes. 

It is time for us to go to the root of the issue, rather than accepting the profit motives of these corporate interests as a fact of life. The housing crisis is mounting in cities around the globe; may Berlin set an example for the rest of the world as we fight for our right to shape the city in accordance with the will of the people.

The campaign needs your help

Nearly 60% of the city’s population has already voted in favor of expropriation. The expert commission has reviewed our proposal and agree that it is an appropriate step to take in the midst of a rampant housing crisis. In many ways, we are closer than ever to actualizing these groundbreaking demands. But the fight is not over yet.

Making this happen requires time, energy, and resources. That’s why we’re currently running a crowdfunding campaign to which you can donate to help us make the referendum a reality. The proceeds will go to the law firm drafting the legislation, as well as for the various campaign materials needed at this time.

We also welcome anyone to get involved in the campaign, including foreigners who are often facing some of the most precarious housing situations. That’s why we’ve started Right to the City, the English-speaking working group of the DWE campaign. We hold monthly welcome sessions, weekly co-working, plenary meetings, and much more. Follow us on instagram @r2c.berlin to keep up to date on our current events and actions. Our next welcome session for new people interested is November 13, 19h at Nansenstrasse 2. 

Right to the City and die Linke Internationals are also supporting the crowdfunding effort with a Küfa dinner on Saturday, 14 October at Bilgisaray (Oranienstrasse 45). In addition to delicious, donation-based food, there will be a small entertainment program (details to be announced). Come talk to us there! We are also more than willing to provide more information about our group and the campaign then.

 

I Just Want to Kiss the Earth

My Visual Diary in Occupied Palestine


01/10/2023

Some of the responses I received when I got the acceptance message from the travel agent. English translation (top to bottom): “Put me in your suitcase”; “7 days/6nights”; “A scent is better than nothing”; “It’s like our souls rot when we are away from the homeland”; “Pray at Al Aqsa for us”; “The Accepted”.

13 August

Acceptance

The list of the accepted.

Name: Rasha Al Jundi

Date of travel: August 21st for 7 days/6 nights

This was the message that flashed across my phone screen from the Jordanian travel agent.

I don’t remember a time when I held my breath for so long ever before in my life.

August 21

Nablus Old City (August, 2023)

Exclamation mark

“Do you have a weapon in your bag?”

This was the first question that the Israeli occupation border police officer asked me after inquiring if I can speak English or not. My positive answer to this latter question got him to exclaim with open arms to a hall full of people FINALLY!” I was on a bus with approximately 45 other travellers, most of whom were elderly. We were the first tourist group” of Jordanian passport-holders who were given approval by the Zionist occupation to visit our own homeland.

The irony that big brother imposes on Palestinians in exile continues with the performance of hypersexualized and condescending border control agents. I was in the middle of the queue to the first officer so I took my time to calm my pounding heart. It was the first time I come this close to the occupier. My heart beats and tense jaw reflected my rage, while my deep breaths reflected my control.

While I waited patiently for my turn, I examined the well-constructed hall at the northern Zionist border” with Jordan. It is famous for being designed for tourists groups crossing by land, hence the fancy airport-like fluorescent-lit structure. My eyes darted from one corner to another taking in all the details, every camera, sign and tile. I took in the female agents with full makeup, well-manicured long nails, freshly styled hairdos and super tight jeans that accentuate their bodies. I took in the male agents with their tight t-shirts that show off their constantly flexing chest muscles. I took in every bark in Hebrew hurled at an old lady, every smirk, snort and snicker at anyone who did not place their bag in the correct way on the X-ray belt. I took in their stares and I stared back.

Questions flowed:

  • What is your purpose for visiting Israel?
    Tourism.
  • Where are you staying?
    Metropole hotel.
  • In which city is it?
    Jerusalem.

After a few more similar questions, a rectangular red sticker from a roll was slapped on my passport with the exclamation mark on it emphasised in blue ink. I was led to wait for a body search and after inspecting my bags, the passport control officer asked me the same questions in English before pausing at my grandfather’s name and wondering out loud, suddenly in Arabic: Your grandfather’s name is Moses?” After some more waiting on the cold steel chairs, a cat showed up, sat in my lap and purred.

A female traveller fainted. She was Palestinian with an Israeli passport. The officers dragged their feet to respond while other travellers lifted her feet and sprayed water on her face. She eventually got up and was escorted to the seat next to me as she regains her composure. I handed her a small bag with a few left over nuts.

Another officer walked up to me, this time a woman, with a massive smile on her face. She greeted me as if we were long lost friends and proceeded to inquire about my work (being a photographer stood out the most), my place of domicile and eventually my permanent residency in Germany. The latter got me the needed nod to grant me the final entry approval by the occupier to my homeland.

Nablus Old City (August 2023)
Yafa Old Town (August 2023)

Plan your death well

“There is only one way for you to be allowed to remain here. It is – may God give you health – in the case of your death. But make sure to die in an Israeli hospital, ok? Otherwise, they won’t let you stay.”

With these words, the Palestinian guide ended his long list of rules. He attempted to lighten his persistent demands for us to not to even think of breaking the entry approval duration rules of seven days and six nights only. Our trip was already planned by the occupation before it has even started. The occupation’s approval wreaks of control. In addition to the duration of our stay, the dates of travel, the entry/exit points and departure time on August 27th were all already set by them. Israeli colonisation of Palestine is ingenious”. It does not only occupy our land and minds, it also occupies our time.

For travel agents to guarantee that Jordanian passport-holders are bound to leave:

Occupied Palestine on the designated date, they get a close next of kin for each one of us to sign on financial guarantees that range between 25 to 30 thousand Jordanian dinars. I couldn’t help but wonder: is the penalty” to return to Palestine equivalent to the cost of the majority of new vehicles that clog the streets of Amman? This is probably why, after receiving the occupation’s blessings to smell our country, our passports are collected by the Palestinian agent who receives us, leaving each one of us with a copy of the original and the flimsy Israeli green entry visa paper to move around.

Despite the loud and repeated instructions by the agent, the mood on the bus was one of pure happiness and joy. We made it. Many of us for the first time in their lives. Others for the first time since childhood. We were all glued to the bus’s windows. No one wanted to miss an inch of the land. Phones started ringing with excited relatives inquiring about our arrival times to either one of the two drop off points: first Jericho, second Jerusalem.

I had earlier decided to get off in the latter. After all, it is my first time home, so I had to see the heart of it. Surprisingly, after initially taking away my documents, the agent squeezed through towards my seat and handed me back my passport. For a second, the thought of staying back crossed my mind. Just for a second.

August 22

Fatima returns

A few months ago, a German friend travelled to the heartland of occupied Palestine to visit a friend of hers. She attempted to document my mother’s depopulated village Beit Dajan for me and shared the images she made on WhatsApp. The shock of how foreign everything looked on my phone screen stayed with me for several weeks. I could not show the images to my mother. I did not know at the time, that I will be making the same trip to Beit Dajan a few months later.

This time I confronted the ugliness of erasure myself. A block of identical houses sat neatly next to each other, with a school in the middle of the settlement, now called Bet Dagan”. Nothing of the Palestinian identity was left in any of what I saw, except for an orange grove at the edge of this alien place. Fenced by grand Palestinian cacti, the land was beautiful and I heard my mother’s description of her grandfather’s groves in my ears. I asked the taxi driver to stop and wait for me as I stepped out and walked over to the fence. Luckily, I found a big enough dent in the barrier to sneak into the grove. I had planned a symbolic return for my late Grandmother Faima (Umm Ali), since my departure from Amman. With an embroidered purse that she made for me a few years before her death, my grandmother accompanied me throughout this trip.

I took the purse out underneath an orange tree and whispered to her that she is back home now. I will never forget the heaviness in the air, the smell of the orange tree leaves and the watchfulness of the cacti over me. At that moment, I reclaimed the Palestinian beauty of the land in Beit Dajan in spite of the Israeli ugliness. And I kissed the earth.

My embroidered purse from my late grandmother Fatima (iPhone image: August, 2023)

It was 17:45 when the bus parked near Damascus gate in Jerusalem. I remember the moment I stepped out of it. The sharp sweet smell of jasmine hit my nose and I looked up to realise that I was standing underneath a giant tree, decorating the fence of the Jerusalem hotel. Despite being located opposite a large bus station, the razor sharp scent took over. I smiled with relief. I was very anxious that the fist thing I will see and experience in the city is the extreme Orthodox Jewish presence. It was the rush hour for people to head back to their homes from work and  universities. So I took my time on the side of the main road watching mainly Palestinians come and go from that neighbourhood.

The sun was slowly bending towards its exit for the day. A pleasant breeze caressed my skin and hair. Jerusalem’s unforgettable air hugged me tenderly and welcomed me home.

Jerusalem (August, 2023)

Visiting Yafa and Haifa was equally difficult. Western structures and standards of capitalist development have taken over both cities and pushed the few Palestinian community members into tiny cantons. I struggled to reconcile the views of the Israeli and other tourists posing for photos by the old Yafa port. Scenes of the old city scape from the latest book by Suad Amiry Mother of Strangers” [1] came rushing into my head as I walked around the clock tower square. After successfully finding a Palestinian place to grab a cup of coffee, I asked the driver to take me to Al Manshiyya quarter.

“It’s all gone,” he said, pointing to the last standing proof of its existence, the Hassan Beq mosque. Surrounded by endless cranes, the mosque sits in the middle of what the Zionist entity wishes to develop into a central business district in Yafa. As Al Manshiyya was really a bridge of commerce between the port and Tel Aviv, colonisers are not wasting time in transforming it to an actual link merging Tel Aviv with Yafa to become one. The Palestinian Arab identity was completely scrapped into rubble, which nowadays forms the basis of a park on the side of the road. They now call it the Oasis of Justice,” the driver smirked. The irony of that fact made me feel like a character in a new book. Unfortunately though, it would not have been a fictional one.

Despite my rage at the ugliness and strangeness of the Mother of Strangers”*, I could not leave Yafa without feeling the the sea. Our sea. So I spent time floating in the Mediterranean, which hugged me with its warm August waves and welcomed me home. I have visited the same sea countless times before and lived by it in Tunisia for two and a half years. Yet, the water felt different against my skin this time around. I reclaimed my right to the Yafa sea.

Hassan Beq Mosque, Yafa (August, 2023)
Yafa Old Port (August, 2023)

The Boys of Akka

The Boys of Akka On the City Wall (August. 2023)

I felt like there was a heavy weight on my chest after stopping in Haifa and seeing everything in between as we drove though the Zionist entity. As I stepped out of the taxi in Akka, I felt that weight lifting. Zaki Nassif’s Ya Ahiqata al Wardi”** filled up the air of the parking lot, as a lone cat rummaged through the overfilled municipal trash bin and people shuffled slowly towards the nearby Al Jazzar mosque. Shopkeepers shouted greetings and jokes to each other. The smell of cigarette smoke combined with shawarma and the salty sea filled the air. The sights and sounds of Palestinian stubbornness lightened my pace. The city’s mighty high walls cradled its stone houses, which are beautified by pots of flowers and cactus. I instantly fell in love with Akka.

After one of the best seafood meals at Abu Christo, I made my way through the city to check out the young boys who are famous for jumping off the city wall into the sea. Hussein, Abdallah and Mohammed greeted me enthusiastically. Do you want to jump?” one of them exclaimed in my direction. They did not shy away from inviting other passersby or spectators from joining them. They regularly scale the thirteen-meter-high city wall to perform acrobatic jumps throughout the afternoon until sunset.

Akka City Wall (August, 2023)

“Play girl, don’t play.” Akka City Wall (August, 2023)
A store in Akka (August, 2023)

While I spent time documenting their stunts and enjoying the excitement of their youth, I couldn’t help but notice the floods of young Jewish visitors who flocked the city in religious groups. I was not sure whether those groups were from within the Zionist entity or from abroad. I watched a young Jewish girl break away from one of them and pray against the city wall. When I circled back from watching the boys to where she was, about an hour later, she was still in the same position. To her right, I noticed a kind of arcade boxing game that stood there unused. She couldn’t be more than fourteen years old. Yet her life as a future Israeli Jewish settler has been paved for her. She will end up here, perhaps even taking the place of one of the Boys of Akka, and claiming that she was here first. I stopped and looked hard at two adjacent yet very different scenes of youth and I wished I could go up to her and say Play girl, don’t pray”.

Milk Grotto Chapel, Bethlehem (August, 2023)
Old Jerusalem (August 2023)

23 August

Big Brother

The Israeli occupation manifests itself in everything that is ugly in Occupied Palestine as a whole and in Jerusalem in particular. I always thought that George Orwell’s novel 1984 and the idea of Big Brother that it presents was a mad fantasy. Until I met the Zionist entity. The obvious crime that the occupation commits on our land from the Annexation Wall to settlement expansion, extensive surveillance cameras on every corner and underage religious Jewish settlers strutting around Old Jerusalem showing off their heavy M16, are all one form.

The hard truth sneers at me from every direction.

What the Zionist Big Brother also does so well, in a subtle way, is the rewriting of the place’s history. Does one pay attention to the newly planted star of David in the ancient tiles of the city’s walls? Does one marvel at the beauty of a creeping green leafy plant on the facade of Damascus gate, only to realise that this plant is a colonial tool to hide any Islamic appearance from the city walls?

Religious tourist groups roaming the alleys of Jerusalem surely don’t pay attention or look closer. They don’t see the occupier’s soldiers at every gate of the Al Aqsa Mosque compound inspecting Palestinians for their IDs so they can go in and pray. They don’t see the surveillance that profiles everyone, including them. They don’t see children with guns. They don’t see Big Brother. They only see stones. Those that they believe are the holiest truths, that they crossed miles across skies and seas to see, touch and whisper ancient phrases against. They don’t see the people of the city, its original inhabitants. The ones who are holding the fort against every colonial Jewish attempt to erase their kind and replace them with a foreign looking one. I have never despised tourism more than religious tourist groups in Jerusalem and their unholy conduct.

Nablus Old City (August 2023)
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem (August 2023)

24 August

Ghosts & Ghettos

The first time I heard about Al Shuhada street in Hebron city that is notorious for settler attacks against Palestinian residents was more than ten years ago. I did not imagine, at the time, that I will be standing in the same street, a decade later, looking up at its wired metal rooftop that is littered with trash thrown by Israeli settlers aiming at Palestinians underneath. It is without doubt that the ugliness of the Zionist Big Brother reaches its peak in Hebron.

Hebron Old City (August 2023)

Despite its expanding neighbourhoods and lavish homes that reflect wealth and the tacky taste of the rich, Hebron’s old city was one of the saddest places that I visited in occupied Palestine. Walking through its deserted alleys and homes, I can only imagine how vibrant it must have been before the cancer of Zionism infected it. I can hear children playing around every corner, their laughter filling the air. I can see ghosts of women and men crowding the alleys with their shopping bags full of pickles, olives and sweets from the market place. I can hear vegetable and fruit cart sellers announcing their prices out loud for stay at home buyers. I can see the lights of the old city at night, keeping everyone awake until the late night hours.

What greeted me was the hollowness of the alleys. What remains is the shell of a city that was once the heart and core of commerce and trade in occupied Palestine. Doorways covered in intricate cobwebs. Multiple story households emptied of memories. The occupation dissects the city in half with a concrete wall and barbed wire. It literally created an underground Palestinian ghetto with an overground Jewish presence. The consistent invasions of the old city and the settlement expansion through it drove many of its original Palestinian inhabitants out seeking better living and work conditions. After old Jerusalem and Akka, seeing Hebron was like mourning a dear loved one.

“Are you Muslim?” asked the redheaded Israeli soldier who sits inside an air-conditioned glass box at the guarded entrance of the Ibrahimi Mosque.

I nod and move on through the second metal gate. Cameras point at me in every direction, as I step into the mosque’s courtyard towards the women’s toilets to perform wudhu and change into my prayer clothes. Another wall dissects through the mosque and cuts it in half. Just like the city that hosts it, it is dismantled and divided to create a ghetto within the ghetto. Every Saturday, illegal Jewish settlers are known to invade the mosque’s grounds and are allowed into every corner of it. They dance and perform their fanatic rituals around Abraham and Joseph’s tombs. Similar to Jerusalem, the site of a Turkish tourist group admiring the stones of those tombs gave me the chills. When they started to rub their hands against what they can reach from those sites and close their eyes in meditation, I cursed every tomb and every worshipped stone in Palestine.

Remove them all, together with those intruders on our land.

The Ibrahimi Mosque Dissected in Half, Hebron (August 2023)

Martyrs on Necklaces, Nablus Old City (August 2023)

Martyr memorials

Martyrs in Restaurants, Nablus Old City (August 2023)

I have always wondered when we will be able to have a memorial to commemorate our martyred people, until I entered Nablus’s old town. Walking through it is like walking through a live martyr memorial of sorts. It is constantly updated with new images of the newly killed every week. Martyrs are everywhere, like the living dead: on coffee carts, pendants, shop signs, monuments, restaurant halls and household walkways. Most are standing tall, smiling. Some are holding weapons, others not. Youth splattered all over the city’s walls, watching over us and reminding us all of our losess and wins. A fresh breeze caresses the flag of the Lion’s Den”, the infamous armed resistance group that started off in Nablus. The city is obviously proud of its martyrs and the blood it has been spilling to water the Palestinian earth. Yet I cannot help but question if any of those young men yearned to liberate the whole land? Or was it the absence of hope that pushed one to choose a death to be remembered by? It is a well known fact that the Palestinian Authority’s collaboration with the occupier has quashed any organised Palestinian resistance movement.

Martyrs on Coffee Carts, Nablus Old City (August 2023)

I faced the hard truths and questions on my own. I guess we all yearn for the time of the organised resistance movements of the past. Perhaps those young martyrs wished for the same thing.

Arabic sprayed off sign in Old Jerusalem (August 2023)
Zionist Carnage, Occupied West Bank (August 2023)
Zionist Carnage, Occupied West Bank (August 2023)

On the road with the coloniser, everything that I had read and heard about the occupation in books, lectures and talks was being laid out right in front of my eyes. The sprawling and expanding settlements on hilltops looking down at Palestinian ghettos. The paired snipers standing against each other’s backs in a ready to shoot position at every passing Palestinian vehicle. The watchtowers at checkpoints with their advanced remote controlled automatic rifles. The roadsigns plastered with posters of the so-called Jewish Messiah”.

The endless bulldozers, cement blocks, walls and bridges ravaging the land. The congested Palestinian cities that are eating away at what remains of their enclaved landscapes to expand. The carnage that is ripping away our existence as a population.

Beit Jala (August 2023)

August 26

The Land Speaks Arabic

On one quiet late afternoon, I sat on a hilltop in Beit Jala contemplating my visit and admiring the vast and beautiful landscape. The space I was in was ideally located to block any views of Israeli settlements. It gave me an hour of peace. I took a few steps down the hill to an olive tree and noticed its new branches springing up from its base. I realised that during my trip I saw the vine tree creep through the walls; the fig tree drape over the barbed wire; the cacti spread over our ruined villages. The land is fertile with Palestinian blood and bones.

If we are all gone, the land will continue to resist the cement, the bulldozers, the settlements and the road construction on its own.

August 27

Exit Wounds

“Do you have a weapon?”

The question that the Zionist entity greeted me with upon my entry is laid out again in front of me. This time, however, to a fellow passenger on the bus at the Sheikh Hussein crossing into Jordan. The Israeli officer stepped onto the bus and selected a passenger at random to ask him this question. Due to his badly pronounced Arabic word for weapon”, the passenger did not understand the question until we all shouted out the correct pronunciation at him. We just wanted to move on. A simple No” followed by a smirk was enough to get us going. I remembered what the Palestinian agent told us a week earlier as he wished us a good trip:

“Remember, this is the state of the one soldier, not the rule of law.”

The air on the bus was heavy with sadness and frustration. Seven days and six nights were a fleeting moment in a sweet dream. One passenger took out his frustration at the agent, while another started crying as he recited the traveller’s prayer in the microphone for everyone else.

As the man sitting next to me started sharing anecdotes from his family visit, I did not hold back my tears as I listened attentively to him. He silently handed me a napkin.

I cried that this was my first, very short-lived time in the homeland and it could be my last.

I cried for the love that I lost in Palestine.

I cried for what could have been.

I cried because I did not want to leave.

But they did not want me to stay.

Footnotes

1 *Yafa city was nicknamed Mother of Strangersby its Palestinian inhabitants, as it was known to welcome any visitor or stranger” to it.