Letters from Palestine by Pamela Olson Page B

the people
and about myself along the way, things I don’t think my parents
could have taught me if they wanted to.
    It was during this trip I first realized
what freedom really meant. I had been saying that all Palestinians
want is freedom, peace, and justice, but I don’t know that I really
understood that mantra. Sure, I had trouble traveling despite
having an American passport because to any Israeli soldier I was
Palestinian first and foremost; my ordeal at the airport is one
example of that. But I was going home in three months. For my
family that still lived in Birzeit, it was much more permanent.
    “You see this,” my cousin Hana said to me
once, pounding her Palestinian passport against her fist. “I am
proud of it. I am proud of what it represents.” She was quiet for a
moment. “I hate it too. I can’t go to Jerusalem, to Bethlehem. I
have to carry it with me everywhere like a chain.”
     
    _PHOTO
    Sheeren, with Her Cousin Hana on the
right
     
    It was for those exact reasons most
Palestinians fled and never came back, why we are scattered across
the world from Australia to South America. In these countries, we
can go to supermarkets, and we aren’t searched, a fact that
surprised another cousin of mine, a resident of Israel, who came to
visit me soon after my trip.
     
    _PHOTO
    Shereen’s Jalazone students
     
    This same theme was apparent as I began to
spend time volunteering in the Jalazone refugee camp. The children
were awed that here was a real live Palestinian woman, who spoke
Arabic and English, who looked and even dressed like they did and
went to university. I had been to all kinds of foreign lands. One
girl who shared my name asked me all kinds of questions about
university. She wanted to know what it was like, what kinds of
things did I learn. Despite the occupation, Palestinians still
remain some of the most educated people in the Arab world. They sit
at checkpoints if they can’t make it to school and read their
books, or have class right there if their teacher happens to be
around. Students travel out of Gaza to go to university, not
knowing if they’ll ever be let back in. They may never see their
families again, but their education is just that important. The
fact that I went to university unfettered was a mystery to this
younger Shereen, and she was captivated by everything I could tell
her. All the kids wanted to know how to write their names in
English. Some of the children drew me a large Palestinian flag on a
poster and wrote their names in English on it to show me how they
remembered. It remains one of my most prized possessions. I can say
I came back to the U.S. with a new appreciation for all of my
classes and realized what a privilege it was for me just to be able
to attend class.
    But the freedom I enjoyed was not just
freedom of movement or educational opportunity, but also the
freedom to live peacefully, knowing that my family and my loved
ones are safe and protected by a mostly fair government. The
majority of the students I worked with at the camp had a parent or
a sibling in jail. One boy’s father was shot by Israeli soldiers
right in front of his eyes. Many of the children wore pictures of
dead loved ones or of martyrs around their necks or on their
shirts. It was a constant part of their lives.
    One project we wanted to do with the group
was to transform their playground into something more kid-friendly,
a place where they could escape politics since their playground was
completely covered in political slogans and cartoons. Our first
task for them was to draw the things they would want to put on the
new painting. They drew Palestinian flags. In America, when I think
“not political,” I think flowers and cute bunnies. I can turn off
the TV and stay away from the news for a while, and I have freedom
from all the stress that comes from being from an occupied land.
They can’t. They do not have the freedom to live peacefully, mostly
because they cannot live