How Can Your Life Go On As Normal
When Gaza Burns?
By Michael Galvin
25 January, 29
Countercurrents.org
Madame Clit runs a small Lebanese restaurant on the outskirts of Toulouse, France in a working class neighborhood called Le Mirail. Not only does she make the best felafel in town, but it only costs 2.50 euro for a sandwich, a great deal for the many students who attend the nearby university. After first discovering this gem of private enterprise late in the summer, I started coming every Monday. First we talked about the felafel, cooking, good felafel shops in the city, etc.; however, there was always a certain distance she kept from me. I was after all nothing more than a random young American, until politics came up on the fourth or fifth week.
Mme Clit understands the nuances of American (and by proxy, Israeli) history and policy in the Middle East much better than me. She should, she has lived it; she was there in southern Beirut during the Israel invasions of '82, '92, and '94, witnessing Israeli bombings and so-called civil wars. Even years after she moved to France in '97, she still went back to Lebanon to be there with her grandchildren during the second half of the 33 day Israeli invasion in 2006. "If I hadn't gone back to be in Lebanon during the war I wouldn't be able to look in the mirror. It was a political statement to the Israelis, 'I'm not letting you force me to flee. I am not moving for you.' If my grandchildren were going to die I would be with them."
The French government had barred people from going. Undeterred, she took a plane to Turkey, then Syria, and then drove across the border into Lebanon, this at a time when the Israelis were consistently bombing main transportation axes, and in particular roads (thus preventing any rescue operations). When I asked her what they did all day while bombs were going off all around her she says they just went about their business, only keeping in mind at all times that they might have to run out of the building at any moment in case of bombardment. For this reason she had to sleep with her clothes on and wash by taking off one article at a time, as it would not be okay to run outside or be pulled from the rubble, naked. It occurred to me that such an empirical understanding of daily life in a war zone, in terms of witnessing collapsed buildings and dead bodies of neighbors in the street as the outcome of politics, is impossible for most people in the first-world to understand.
When she is not tending her shop - "a 6am to 10pm job 6 days a week" - Mme. Clit reads, she discusses with people constantly, and is active in campaigns and non-profits that support the Palestinian cause. There are constantly people coming and going with whom she has insanely lively debates on the policy of the French government or the actions of the Americans and Israelis in the Middle East. Yet, despite her willingness to debate and argue on the latter, it is clear that the depth of her understanding of the situation causes her immense grief. "When you are there in the middle of the bombs there is death all around you."
After about 6 or 7 weeks, meaning 2 or 3 in which we discussed politics, she told me she no longer disliked me for being American. I understood and felt oddly grateful. The following week I decided to expose my intentions to go to Palestine this coming summer to work with a Palestinian group against the Israeli occupation (palestiniansolidarityproject.org) and ask her to help me learn some Arabic beforehand. She generously obliged.
Over the next few weeks I studied using a free Rosetta Stone program on computers in the public library and came to her shop every Monday to ask questions and discuss concepts. She kept her distance at first, frequently telling me I wasn't studying the right things or that I was going to fast, etc. At the end of the first few sessions, I was determined to finish on an optimistic note by emptily telling her I thought there had been some progress. We worked through November and December as I learned basic and useless ideas and phrases like, "The boy jumps" (al well-ahd yak-fizz) or "The girl runs after the man" (al bint tejeree halfa a rrajohl).
The thing about Arabic though is that it's really hard. For example, not only are there entirely different words for each color based on whether they are being used in conjunction with a masculine or feminine noun, but there are also different words for the numbers depending on whether you are talking about the digit, a quantity, or the time. I've given up on numbers, not to mention the alphabet (though that I decided from the beginning).
When I asked Mme Clit if she'd be around during the holiday break she looked at me, tugged lightly on her hijab and gave me a are-you-kidding-me stare, adding that she never takes a week off. Yet, when I went to see her one Monday over the Christmas holiday, the metal shutter was down and all the lights were off. The following week I asked her about the absence. At first she tells me she was sick. "Oh what did you have?" I asked. Sick from the murder of Palestinian civilians by Israeli planes, tanks, soldiers, bombs, and guns is more or less the response. She goes on to say that she stayed in bed virtually the entire week, waking up at noon for the first time in her life due to conflict-imposed grief. I sniffed and meekly told her I went to one of the protests. She seemed glad and asked about it.
The ensuing Arab lessons were more intense than ever lasting almost 2 hours, with her intensely concentrating and explaining concepts in detail - though I have to admit that I only understood what she was talking about 3/4 of the time. Whether or not this is because she finally believed in my motivation, or the importance of people intending to go to Palestine at this moment I do not know. I'd like to think that our interaction right now is a way of feeling like we're doing something though. Yet as Israeli bombardments continue, the US continues to block UN resolutions, and Palestinian casualties exceed a thousand with 5 times as many wounded, such passive acts of participation seem more and more superfluous.
Originally from St. Louis, MO, Michael Galvin attended a liberal arts college in Minnesota from 2004-2008 where he worked with various anti-war organizations. Spending his entirely politically conscious life in George W. Bush's America, Michael decided to leave following the end of his studies, taking a job with the French government where he teaches English to 4th and 5th grade near Toulouse, France. He will be going to Palestine this summer in solidarity with Palestinians working to end the Israeli occupation. [email protected]
