The Huffington Post, March 17, 2010
Monday morning, I received an email with the subject line “A Strange Night Raid in Bil’in.” An enclosed link led to video footage that I would call more chilling than strange. Israeli soldiers stalk through the West Bank village, taping Hebrew documents to shuttered storefronts. The village is black, silent. The soldiers don’t speak; we hear the low rumble of the army jeeps, the hiss of tape being stripped away from the roll, the click of a camera as the IDF records its work.
The papers, it turns out, are orders declaring both Bil’in and Na’alin closed military zones on Fridays, between the hours of 8 AM to 8 PM, until mid-August. Israelis who enter the village during this time risk arrest; internationals risk deportation. As the weekly non-violent protest against the separation barrier begins shortly following Friday afternoon prayers, the message is clear–resistance, of any kind, is not welcome.
As a citizen of Israel who has attended the demonstration on numerous occasions, I was offended by the army’s attempts to censure Palestinian, Israeli, and international voices of dissent. As a journalist, I felt that I was watching an extremely important clip. Yes, the army and police have been cracking down on organizers and activists for some time now. But this seemed to be an even sharper turn, a veer towards an ever darker road.
As I wrote a pitch, titled “This is very serious,” to my editor, I thought: What if I get arrested? Thrown into administrative detention? Or, as an American passport holder, might I be subject to deportation?
This is exactly what they want, I replied to myself. They want people to get scared and stay away. As a citizen, I have a duty to stand up. As a journalist, it’s more important to be there now than ever.
I hit send.
I got the green light from my editor. Today, she emailed me to make sure we’re on for Friday. I stared at the words on my screen. And then, I did something I have never done before an editor: I faltered.
I explained my hesitations. She thanked me for my honesty and said that she completely understood. It was nice to receive her support, but I remained uncomfortable–with myself.
I believe journalists have to be brave. Journalists have to be strong. Journalists have to be willing to stand up and tell the stories of others even if they put themselves at risk–whether by location or opinion. I have done both in the past. What would I do now?
It’s Wednesday night now and I still don’t have an answer. I told my editor I had to sleep on it. This afternoon, I spoke to contacts with intimate knowledge of the situation in the West Bank, as well as some friends and family. The answer has come back the same, all around: things are bad right now in Israel. The government is going crazy, defying its oldest and strongest ally. A journalist–an editor of a major news agency–has been deported. Racist bills are snaking through the Knesset.
This is serious, they agree, and that’s why you have to stay away. You’re too small, as a citizen. As a journalist, you’re better off staying at home Friday and writing an op-ed than getting locked up.
I’m not so sure.