Gaza Freedom March Diary: Report back from Cairo
Diane Harriford and Becky Thompson
December 26th:
This morning we arrive at the Sun Hotel in downtown Cairo--a hostel on
the ninth floor of an ancient building whose elevator operates from
3:00-8:00, otherwise nine flights of marble stairs taken by foot. Our
accommodations: a dorm room sleeping eight women, the beds so close we
each walk sideways to get to our own. We soon begin calling our room
the Queens dorm, with each seasoned activist perched on her bed. The
entry hall floor of the building is graced with a green indoor/outdoor
carpet for men kneeling in prayer. Coke machines keep rumbling time on
each floor. People arrive through the day as we learn that the
Egyptian government has denied the 1362 delegates passage to Gaza,
revoked our bus permits, and us told to go home.
We hadn't expected to be staying at a hostel, with unlocked dormitory
doors, under the gaze of so many young men. Other women and men are
arriving, all with their own stories--the latest, a woman from upstate
New York who looks like a lion, thick red hair, round full body, here
to be part of the march and planning to stay in Gaza for five months
listening, working with people who have been traumatized. The
lioness-therapist tells a story about last year when over a hundred
mental health care workers tried to travel to Gaza, some having
prepared for years, learned Arabic, only to be turned away, not
allowed in. It is dawning on Diane and me that we are part of a long
stream of people, maybe more like a river, trying to connect with the
Palestinians as the Israeli government continues to erect all kinds of
barriers.
December 27th:
Since the Egyptian government denied permission for us to meet at a
church collectively, smaller groups met this morning at various
hostels. Our group was led by Ann Wright, a former colonel in the US
army who resigned in 2003 in protest of the US war in Iraq. The
actions for today include tying ribbons and notes around the October
6th Bridge across the Nile at lunch time followed by a ceremony
tonight on the Nile releasing tiny biodegradable boats onto the
water--both rituals to commemorate the 1400 deaths of Palestinians
last year during the 23 day siege. The police let us do the first
although they followed behind us and untied each ribbon we tied. The
second action they stopped before we got started, taking the engines
out of the boats. We held a demonstration right by the water anyway,
leaning into each other as we chanted. By nighttime we begin to
understand that the land upon which we will be witnessing had
shifted--from Gaza to Cairo, with the military police as our company.
Later on the 27th:
Being on hold here in Cairo can make you think. One of the
realizations that Diane has had is how many people in the world can't
count on predictability and order. Diane says,"I had read all
these books about people whose lives need to be so much in
the present, but I rarely experience that. My life is so
organized, orderly. But to live even for a day or two, not
knowing what our next step will be, makes me feel anxious.
Makes me appreciate how hard it must be to live that way all
the time--to have so little control, so little external stability. I
appreciate what that takes."
December 28th:
Today is a sad day. Everybody is trying to be brave but that is taking
much energy since we were all hoping that this morning we would be
getting on buses to drive toward Gaza. Instead, we are regrouping both
physically and emotionally. Early this morning hundreds of people met
in each of the three key hostels to share the latest updates and
figure out the next steps. One of the rabbis said that we had come to
walk, that we still needed to walk, and that if we could not find
buses that would take us to the border, we could start walking.
Everybody clapped about that idea.
We learn that the French contingent (230 strong) have been cordoned
off by hundreds of riot police at the French Embassy the day before. A
multiracial group-Asian, Palestinian, Black, white--their chants in
Arabic, French and English, they seem to embody the energy of 1968
student organizing on the streets of Cairo. They took over a
boulevard, right in front of the National Zoo, in one of the most
beautiful neighborhoods in Cairo--streets with valleys of trees and
white egrets. The French started with a line of people braving the
traffic, with a second and third line behind them, each lying down on
the street. The police were forced to stop traffic at each end of the
block. With a whole block to themselves the French set up their tents,
with flags and banners, sleeping on the boulevard through the night.
Then a whole convoy of water trucks arrived, threatening to flood them
out. The French continued chanting: "my brothers, the Egyptians are
our brothers, Palestinians are our brothers." Some of the police
looked astonished, embarrassed that the protesters were chanting for
them.
*Traffic update: On our way across four eight lane streets (across
Tahrir Square, the largest square in Cairo) we somehow figure out that
to cross alive, we will need to attach ourselves to an Egyptian who
knows how to defy death. We sidle up to a very handsome Egyptian man
in a finely made suit. He acknowledges us with a slight nod. He raises
his hand, holding a row of rosary beads, uses it as his protection
against the oncoming cars. We somehow make it across. We are stunned.
Don't know how, for the life of us, we made it without being rolled
into the pavement.
December 29th:
When we go to support the French contingent at their Embassy in the
morning, the police are still in two formations--the first row of young
riot police backed up by the older, tougher police, watching the young
ones like hawks. I decide to go down the line of young police, shaking
their hands, giving greetings with my poor Arabic phrases and asking
their names. Each young guy is respectful, friendly. We are laughing
across language, until older police come up and reprimand them. I wait
until the bossy guys leave and then continue down the line. The next
young one makes a motion with his arms, crossing them at the wrists to
let me know his hands are tied, smiling to let me know what was up,
his own act of solidarity. As I continue down the line, each man
whispers his name to me.
After visiting the French in the morning we traveled downtown to the
Journalist Syndicate building for a press conference for the dozen
hunger strikers followed by a rally. There were hundreds of people
there with the hunger strikers at the nucleus of the crowd. The
gorgeous architecture, marble steps and landings created an
aesthetically beautiful scene--you could see all of the banners, the
strikingly multiracial and multinational activists, the many colored
tee shirts, scarves, hats, etc. The South African contingent had
arrived, bringing a whole other level of experience to the crowd.
The first rally began in the afternoon and was still going strong in
the evening when the second rally began--this one initiated by
Egyptian journalists organizing for freedom of speech, freedom of the
press, their call and response chanting in Arabic. The Egyptians were
spirited, happy, brave. News began to circulate that Suzanne Mubarak
had agreed to allow two buses of people to enter Gaza with a third bus
carrying supplies. The process and politics by which 100 people (out
of the 1300 plus) will get to be on those buses remain to be seen.
*Traffic update: We are getting quite expert at weaving through 40
mile an hour traffic. We have realized that it helps to whisper "Allah
is great" while trying to cross since we don't have a rosary to clutch
in our hands. It is essential to not speed up or slow down one's pace
while crossing. The honking of horns, which we used to think of as a
warning sign is actually a sign of encouragement. Losing one's leg to
a car whizzing by might not hurt if one is high from a historic rally.
Someone called out to Diane today that she walks like an Egyptian when
she is crossing the street. We think this was a compliment.
December 30th:
Code Pink exploded last night. Diane attended extremely contentious
meetings until two in the morning. When the Egyptian government tried
to create a wedge by offering us a "deal" that 100 people could go to
Gaza, unfortunately, the Code Pink leadership agreed to it; 100 were
chosen to get on buses in the early morning. But by then, there had
been enough meetings that most of the people realized the divide and
conquer tactics. So, after everyone had gotten on the buses the
morning of the 30th, most got off and rejoined the rest of us.
Retrospectively we wish we had much more discussion about the politics
of sending just a few people to Gaza before the idea was presented to
Madame Mubarak. Instead, many people were caught off guard, having to
make principled arguments for or against such sending just hours
before the scheduled departure.
Meanwhile, the South African contingent called a meeting to write up
an international declaration to end the Israeli apartheid following
the demands made by the Palestinians. About 100 people were pressed
into a very small room at the Lotus Hotel with people spilling out in
the halls as the South Africans led an inspired meeting about
continuing to build internationally--with a focus on boycotts,
divestment and sanctions. I was volunteered to be on the steering
committee to write the International Declaration to Stop the Israeli
Apartheid. Such a high: several intense hours as five of us
brainstormed, wrote, debated and then finalized a draft of the
Declaration to send to the Palestinian leadership.
December 31st: Flash demonstrations in a military state:
Since we couldn't be with the people of Gaza on New Year's Eve as
planned, the alternative action was for hundreds of us to take a
symbolic walk to Gaza from Cairo, en masse, knowing that we might not
get far but we could try. We needed to organize as a flash
demonstration which meant milling around in small groups (like
mosquitoes) until all of a sudden we would converge in a single spot
in front of the Egyptian Museum. Facilitating the final meeting about
the action, the Scottish trade unionist, Mick Napier reminded us that
the only people we had kept information from during the last week were
ourselves, that the many listening ears meant that it would be
impossible to keep secret the location or the time of the
demonstration. So, we were going to need to act fast and together. It
was an amazing moment when, very close to ten o'clock, all of a sudden
about 500 people started to coalesce. It was as if we sensed that it
was time to run toward each other, to become one united group with
Starhawk and the other fearless women leading the charge. The sea of
human energy was coming together.
At first, we were all able to walk forward as one big, growing
group on the boulevard but within a few minutes hundreds of police in
riot gear were surrounding the group, trying to cordon us all. The
police panic was palpable. They were clearly caught off guard--by the
enormous size of the group; by the way we had been able to walk into
the boulevard and stop eight lanes of traffic from three different directions.
Since Diane and I had previously agreed not to risk arrest during this
action (Diane with her own historical knowledge of the police;
my own history of arrest), we stayed just outside of the
perimeter of the mass of demonstrators for as long as we could
until we could tell that we would get pushed into the mass if
we didn't back up. It occurred to me that since I was not inside
the mass group, I could run up and down the rows of very
slowly moving traffic, along side the rows of buses and cars
with a sign that read "Free Gaza, Free Palestine" in English and
Arabic to let drivers know why the traffic was slow.
By this point, the Egyptian media had been so intense, that
mosteveryone passing in the cars seemed to know about the actions. I ran
up and down, feeling as high as I ever have felt, chanting, almost
singing, to the people all around. Many of the people on the crowded
buses smiled, some gave a thumbs up. I felt safely invisible somehow,
since the police attention seemed to be fixated on forcing the large
group away from the middle of the street. The police were frenzied,
pushing, shoving, corralling the mass group.
Then, all of a sudden, four police (the older ones in fancier
uniforms, the serious ones) came from behind me and literally picked
me up and carried me several hundred yards. I panicked that they might
carry me to a car or a van and take me away. Instead, the police
hurled me into the mass of demonstrators. I landed on a bunch of
people who, clearly, were not expecting me. I could feel myself
starting to feel light headed and disoriented. It felt like half of my
body was there, and half was disappearing or melting. I knew I had to
get out from the police stranglehold. I spotted a tall railing in
front of two rows of police. I realized I could try to scale the
railing and maybe jump out, over the arms of the police. Once again it
was clear that the younger police were not fully invested in
imprisoning us. Two of them let their arms be passive for the moment
it took me to scale the railing. In that instant I remember thinking
that the many handshakes I had initiated with the rows of young police
at the French embassy had somehow come back to me.
The police started to do a sweep of the sidewalk, pushing toward the
end of the block to try to cordon off another section of protesters.
We walked, then ran away from the police and toward the Sun Hotel.
While the Lotus Hotel had been cordoned off entirely by the military,
for some reason, our hotel has not been surrounded. We climbed the
nine floors to the hostel rooms arriving to find several other
delegates who were scanning the Internet, talking about what they had
witnessed, figuring out the next plan.
I felt both grateful that I was not inside the mass group and sad that
I wasn't there. The other people at the hostel talked about similar
pulls. Someone came up with the great idea of hiring a taxi to drive
us around the perimeter of the demonstration so we could, at least, be
witness through cameras. Four of us piled into a taxi. I didn't say
three words before the taxi driver knew what we wanted to do. We
circled several blocks a few times, Diane rolling the back window up
all of the way so she could film the demonstration safely--without
police snatching the video camera.
We could see that people had shimmied up a big tree and had managed to
hang glorious signs from its limbs. That made me think of the Native
American reverence for trees, rocks, mountains. The signs on the trees
made the demonstration feel stronger. People inside the mass group had
found ways to get on top of each other's shoulders so they could lead
chants. From the taxi, it seemed like the inside of the demo was much
calmer, safer than before. The police had been able to push the entire
group out of the street and onto the sidewalk so that traffic, while
heavy, was not stopped anymore. That had seemed to calm the police
back into silently surrounding the group (rather than pushing and
hitting people). Text messages we received at the hostel said that a
few people had been injured but that most were okay. We learned that
Hedy Epstein, the 85-year-old Holocaust survivor who had initiated the
hunger strike was among those in the demonstration. All reports from
inside the demonstration were: the spirit is high.
January 1st:
On our way home, sitting in the Cairo airport to our stand-by
connection in London, we are hopeful about the future of this movement
because of the strength of the South African delegation, the enormous
principle of the French, and, most importantly, the continued
fortitude of the people of Gaza. The South African contingent is right
that it was quite an accomplishment that Code Pink get people from 42
countries here. We are especially hopeful about the Declaration to
Stop the Israeli Apartheid--that was conceived of and written in less
than twelve hours--was studied and revised by Gaza activists, and then
signed by hundreds of Gaza Freedom March activists on January 1, 2010.
This campaign will now go forward, including a week long world tour in
March of Palestinian and South African trade unionists supporting
divestment plans, boycotts, and sanctions; an international
anti-Apartheid week; and campaigns against the charitable status of
the Jewish National Fund. It was thrilling to see 1300 plus people
come together in Cairo at a time of the year when we think about
renewal and regeneration. We come back hopeful about "the people."
About the writers: Becky Thompson is Professor of Women's and Ethnic
Studies at UCCS. Diane Harriford is on sabbatical from teaching at
Vassar College and is the co-author (with Becky) of When the Center is
on Fire: Passionate Social Theory for our Times. We can be reached at
diharriford@vassar.edu and bthompso@uccs.edu.
