Thanks to Reading PSC for their help on this
CONVOY BLOGS
31 December 2009 - 2 January 2010
Lattakia, Syria
Well, as you'll all now by know, we managed to break the siege of Gaza, if only for a short time. Not a lot went smoothly in the last few days before we reached Rafah, but we made it in the end.
On New Year's Eve, we arrived in the Syrian port of Lattakia to stay, fittingly, in a Palestinian refugee camp, whose inhabitants originate from the northern part of historic Palestine, now occupied by Israel. Our accommodation consisted of huts by the sea. We felt keenly the knowledge that it was us, non-Palestinians, who would soon...hopefully...be entering Gaza, and leaving behind the Palestinians of Lattakia who, under present circumstances, cannot return to their country.
A cargo ship had been obtained to take all the vehicles and a handful of volunteers to the Egyptian port of Al Arish, with the rest of us travelling by chartered plane.
On 2 January, we drove all the ambulances, the trucks, the jeeps, the vans that had travelled so far from London to the port. The Palestinians of the camp came out to cheer us on our way, roads were blocked, people stopped their cars and hung over bridges to wave us on.
And then came the port itself - if love, pride and sheer passion alone could free Palestine, then it would've been freed that day. Hundreds upon hundreds of Palestinian refugees crammed into that port, surrounding our vehicles as they drove in, climbing up cranes and any other structures they could find, shouting, cheering, waving, a band playing, and the huge doors of the ferry open and the ramp down, as vehicle after vehicle inched its way in, ready for the journey to Egypt. It was awesome, it was incredible, it was inspiring, it was the face of the struggle that the western media will never report.
The ship with its precious cargo and volunteers - who had to endure more than 20 hours at sea with no seats or beds, and a following of Israeli warships - left later that evening. Israel kindly (and illegally) extended the exclusion zone around its waters, turning an already long and arduous journey into an even longer one.
However, our fears that Israel might board the ship, make arrrests or seize the vehicles thankfully didn't materialise, and it docked safely the next day in Al Arish, with all its cargo being cleared by Egyptian customs.
4 -5 January
El Arish- bound
The convoy was hit by a hideous bout of sickness in the first days of the New Year. Although there were nearly 500 of us, just about everyone had a tale of vomiting and diorrhea, and I guess conditions in the windy, open camp didn't help. There were a lot of very pale, ill looking people wandering about. But again, the Palestinians were wonderful, opening their homes to us, and doctors who were called out insisting that patients stay with them in their houses to recover, rather than staying in the huts.
It was in this state of sickness that we began our flights to Al Arish on 4 January - a journey of an hour - finally arriving there 24 hours later on the 5th.
One plane had been chartered to take us, and this plane would have to make three journeys to get us all into Egypt. The first flight took off safely from the tiny airport at Lattakia, and completed its journey to Al Arish without incident, only for convoy members to be detained at Al Arish for hours by the Egyptians, who stamped their passports with both entry and exit stamps, making it impossible for them to proceed.
On the plane's second flight out of Lattakia, we heard a loud explosion come from the engine on take-off and saw sparks flying. Two more huge bangs followed mid-air, and we were diverted to Damascus (how many times can you visit Damascus in a week?) on a single engine.
And so, with people still sick and vomiting, we spent the night (the next ten hours) in Damascus airport, with people sprawled out on chairs and in sleeping bags on the hard floor, waiting for a new plane to arrive from Athens, which it finally did at 7am on the 5th.
Meanwhile, in Al Arish, a sit down protest had played its part in persuading the Egyptians to issue the correct visas to the first group to arrive, and they had made their way safely to the port to be reunited with our vehicles.
Safe became a relative term once all the convoy members had arrived in the port. We were surrounded by riot and plain clothes police on one side, and the sea, with patrolling warships on the other. We were completely trapped in a small space and, when night fell, the attacks began.
It was a long, long night, with no sleep. But even though we were under fire, my thoughts were with the Palestinians, of Jenin, of Sabra, of Chatila, of Gaza, of every refugee camp that has been completely surrounded by Israeli soldiers, blocking off all escape for its people, as those soldiers then wander through, killing systematically and coldly. If we were scared that night, how much greater the cold terror of massacre with no escape?
6 January 2010
Gaza
As the dust cleared in the morning, we negotiated the release of those convoy members who had been arrested during the clashes and held in a police van just outside the compound. Many people had spent the night vomiting from the effects of tear gas and water cannon. Others had blood seeping through the bandages applied to heads and limbs, where they'd been hit by rocks hurled by the police.
And negotiations continued about proceeding to Gaza, and how many of our vehicles would be allowed in.
Finally, late in the afternoon, the all-clear was given. All vehicles, except jeeps, would be allowed to make that final journey of less than 20 miles to the Rafah Gate. We were going to Gaza.
It took hours for every vehicle to make it out of the compound, as the Egyptian authorities processed us through at a snail's pace, but once at the Rafah border crossing, exactly a month after the convoy left London, with that wonderful sign saying 'Welcome to Palestine' above us, nothing else mattered. We'd made it, we'd broken a siege that has been ongoing and brutal for three-and-a-half years, we'd entered the prison, the cage to stand in solidarity with the brave, brave Palestinians who are trapped inside. We'd made a stand against ethnic cleansing, against genocide, against facism.
And what a welcome we received from the Palestinians of Gaza, who, this time last year, were being showered with white phosphorus, as bombs and missiles rained down on them and their houses from American-made Apaches, as Israeli tanks drove through the very streets we were now driving our aid vehicles through, shelling and shooting at will, Israeli soldiers going from house to house with their machine guns, and warships attacking from the sea. The same people who endured a 22-day massacre, trapped in that tiny strip of land, as our governments turned away.
They came out in their thousands to welcome us, turning a 25 minute journey to Gaza City from Rafah into a two hour one, as they mobbed our vehicles, banging on the sides, thrusting their hands through the windows to shake our hands, shouting 'Thank you, thank you', and 'Welcome to Gaza'. As I drove our ambulance at about 1mph through one throng, an old man in a keffiyeh looked at me through my open window and said quietly, 'Thank you for breaking the siege'.
7 -8 January
Inside Gaza
We delivered our aid and vehicles the next day, to NGOs and to specific organisations, such as Braille machines to the school for the blind, that had requested it. We handed over life-support machines, wheelchairs, kidney-dialysis units, laptops, medicines, and everything else we'd brought, to a people who aren't even allowed to have paper come into their prison. We were unable to give them the concrete and steel they so desperately need, and are denied by Israel, to rebuild their destroyed homes and infrastructure.
We visited people living in the rubble of their bombed and bullet-ridden homes, enduring the cold nights of January without sufficient cover, clothes or blankets, and no sanitation facilities.
We saw the destroyed Parliament building, the destroyed government ministries, the destroyed police stations, the destroyed milk factories, the destroyed hospitals, the destroyed schools.
We saw the once fertile agricultural fields, now turned to wasteland, the land once covered by trees, now uprooted by Israeli tanks.
We saw the harbour and the empty light-blue sea, devoid of fishing boats which could bring in much needed food for the Gazans, but which stay away because they are shot at by Israeli ships.
We visited the families whose only source of food comes from the tunnels dug under Gaza into Egypt, and ate precious meals with them, knowing that, once Egypt completes the underground steel wall it is building, they face starvation. 'We'll cope,' they told us.
We listened to stories of last January's massacre, of the father who took his wife and children to sleep in an empty grave every night, because that was safer than being at home, of the father who stitched his eight-year-old son's leg with a needle and thread, and no anaesthetic, after a rocket attack, of the family who lost 31 members in one attack.
We heard that night's Israeli shelling - three strikes in one night - of Rafah, of Khan Younis, and felt windows shake. We found out about Gaza's new dead the next day.
And most of all, we saw and we felt the pride, and the determination, the bravery, the generosity and the resilience of the Palestinians of Gaza. We saw the beauty of Gaza City, its tall date palms, the cleanliness of the streets despite everything, smelled the sweet air coming in from the Mediterranean, tasted that special lemonade made from Palestinian lemons.
And when we left on the 8th, turned round at the Rafah Gate and looked at the border closed once more behind us, trapping all those people inside, not allowed out, nothing, not even food, allowed in, it hurt more than words can describe. The Israeli historian, Ilan Pappe, has described what is happening in Gaza as 'slow motion genocide'. I have a badge, in Arabic it reads 'Gaza, In Our Hearts'.
Always. We are all Gaza.
9 January
Escape from Egypt
Having been given less than 48 hours in Gaza by the Egyptians, we were driven under police escort from the border to Cairo airport. A nightmarish situation then followed, where we were separated from each other, with all groups being kept under armed guard, and our passports taken from us. No-one was allowed to either leave the airport, catch a flight if any were booked, or go to a ticket desk and buy a ticket out of there. Arrests were also made, of the same people arrested at Al Arish. Toilet visits were made under escort. I was held for 17 hours before being allowed to leave with three others, and we quickly bought tickets for Amman (the next flight due to leave), and were escorted to the gate and given our passports back. I know that those arrested were eventually released, and there was news, as I left, that the British consul was due to arrive. We've been told that our departure from Egypt is classed as a deportation. It was worth it. As Martin Luther King said: 'Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.'
Gaza matters. Please speak out.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Wednesday 30 December
Damascus
Things are moving slowly, yet quickly at the same time. Slow in that there's a lot of waiting to find out what's happening, and what's going to happen, but quickly in that the situation keeps changing all the time.
We spent four days in Aqaba in the end, while the Turkish government negotiated with the Egyptians, trying to persuade them to let us land in Nuwaiba. Some of the convoy held a symbolic hunger strike for the last two days, an impressive amount of time without food, and only water. We set up a small sheltered area in the compound for them, and made banners, which included 'Hungry for Gaza', and 'Gaza needs medicine more than we need food'.
But in the end, Egypt held fast and refused us entry. However, the negotiations weren't totally unproductive - we were told that if we sailed from Syria to the Egyptian port of Al Arish, we would be allowed to land. So, yesterday, we said goodbye to our amazing friends in Aqaba - one of the Palestinian hotel owners who gave his hotel free of charge to us held a farewell feast for us in the compound - and set off on the long drive back through Jordan and into Syria to Damascus.
We're back in the Sahara Hotel - again free of charge - and this morning learnt that the Egyptians will allow us into Gaza for 48 hours. Wonderful, wonderful news. What we don't know is when they'll let us in, and how many of us will be allowed to enter.
Last night, Palestinian Syrians, having learnt of our arrival, came to the hotel to visit us. Never have I heard the words 'Thank you, we're so proud of you', so many times and not deserved them. Do any of us? We're doing what has to be done. We're doing what our governments should be doing.
A wonderful young girl came to visit us with her family last night. The family is originally from the south of Palestine, now taken by Israel, and so they're unable to go back. She told us how she loved to meet people who are going to Palestine, or coming back from there, because 'I feel they're holding a part of my homeland'.
We're all sitting around in the lobby of the Sahara at the moment, where there's an intermittent wi-fi connection. The Turkish and Syrian governments are helping to arrange ferries, which will sail from the port of Tartus at some point tomorrow. It's about 250km to Tartus, and the Syrian government has asked us to wait in this hotel until the ferries have docked and are ready to take us.
The boat journey will take around 19 hours, so we'll celebrate New Year's Eve on board. When we land on New Year's Day, we will be so close to Gaza. We've heard reports of how eagerly they're waiting for us - visitors to their cage.
Sunday 28 December
10.35am. Aqaba, Jordan
The compound where our convoy members gather during the day, here in Aqaba, is full of activity. In exactly an hour, more than 30 of us will begin a hunger strike in protest at Egypt's refusal to allow the convoy entry onto its soil.
Everyone else is making banners or giving media interviews. Al Jazeera, Press TV and ABS (Arab Broadcast Services) have their vans permanently parked up in the compound. The hunger strikers and banner holders will take up their positions outside the Egyptian Consulate in Aqaba in the next 45 minutes. Fifteen of us will hold up specially printed posters, each poster bearing the name of one of the 15 doctors or paramedics killed during Operation Cast Lead.
We've been in Aqaba since Thursday evening, when we arrived from Amman. Here, we were given the news that Egypt would deny us entry if we sailed from Jordan. All the aid we're carrying – specialised medical equipment, wheelchairs, Braille machines, medicines, blankets, powdered baby milk – is sitting in our vehicles in a port car pound, going nowhere. There's a danger the medicines will start to spoil in vehicles over-heated by the Middle Eastern sun, and negotiations are underway to move them somewhere cooler.
Our mood is determined and strong. We will get this aid into Gaza.
Early this morning, a small band of convoy members scaled the peak of one of the many mountains that overlooks our compound and raised the Viva Palestina flag. Viva Viva Palestina!
In stark contrast to the intransigence of the Egyptian government, and the inhumanity of the Israeli government, is the incredible kindness we've received from ordinary people here in Aqaba. We want for nothing. The Jordan Professional Association, a trade union organisation, allows us to use its compound and facilities, and provides us with three meals a day. Hotel owners are allowing us to stay in their rooms without charge, and also providing meals. The owners of internet cafes are allowing free use of their computers. Meanwhile, Palestinian Jordanians come to the compound every day to donate money, to ask if they can join the convoy, and to offer their homes for us to stay in.
Across the sparkling blue water of the Straits of Aqaba is occupied Palestine. During the day, the beautiful, hazy mountains seem close enough to touch; at night, the lights in such seeming proximity that it makes your heart ache. If this is how we feel at being able to see, but not help, Palestine, how much sharper must be the pain for Palestinians in Aqaba who look out every day at the land they were cleansed from, how much deeper the pain of exile.
2pm
A press photocall in the compound, as we all held our banners and posters, and then, at 11.35am, a three minute silence for the victims of Israel's 2008/9 massacre in Gaza. We then attempted to march to the Egyptian Consulate, but were stopped on a main road by the police, so we held our demonstration there, as cars sped past, hooting their horns in support. A two hour demo, and now we're back in the compound waiting on news from Egypt. Apparently, Cairo said it would contact us today. This evening, a vigil with 1,400 candles is planned.
Please help us get the aid into Gaza. Contact the Egyptian embassy in your country, contact your MP, contact the foreign secretary, David Miliband, and ask your friends and contacts to do the same. Take a look at Reading PSC's excellent website for contact numbers and email addresses. www.readingpsc.org.uk/convoy
Wednesday 23 December - Jordan
It's been a whirlwind four days, with an exit from Turkey, a drive through Syria and a five hour border crossing into Jordan.
We had an absolutely amazing entry into Syria on Sunday. As we crossed from Turkey, through no man's land to the Syrian border we were greeted by the sound of music and cheering. At the border posts, a huge reception was waiting for us, with speeches, music, flowers and flag-waving customs officers. There were also many, many Palestinians, from the Syrian refugee camps, whose welcome was overwhelming. They told us we were heroes, angels, and thanked us over and over again for helping Gaza. We could only tell them that it was our duty, our obligation, and an honour to do what we can to fight the occupation - what else can you say when you experience such hospitality from people who've been exiled from their homeland for more than 60 years? It was a humbling experience.
As we left the border after the reception and drove through the first village, crowds lined the streets, banging drums, waving flags and cheering.. It was the same in all the villages on the drive towards Damascus, with schoolchildren - no doubt ecstatic at being let out of school - shouting the loudest.
It was dark by the time we arrived in Damascus, and we enjoyed our first hotel stay (courtesy of the Syrians) of the journey. And a pretty plush hotel it was too! Another reception greeted us, with the Palestinian People's Committee of Syria.
We've been joined in Damascus by George Galloway, which has caused quite a scrum at press conferences. But the biggest impression taken away from Syria has been meeting Palestinian refugees, which has really focused our minds on where we're going and why.
One 12-year-old girl said to me: 'I'd like to come with you to my country, to see my land, but I'm not allowed. Thank you for going. It gives us the strength to carry on.'
We're in Jordan now, after what started off as a smooth border crossing turned into a five hour wait to get stamped into the country. But games of football were played at the border, and we got through eventually.
A drive to Amman, and then trouble struck just outside the capital city as the police blockaded all three lanes of the highway to stop the convoy going any further. Chaos and confusion and a huge traffic jam, while the convoy leaders negotiated with the police to allow us through.
An hour, or maybe more, later we were allowed to move, and drove on to a reception at a trade union centre in Amman, given by the Jordanian Engineers's Association, in association with opposition parties. George Galloway and Mohammed Sawalha, of the British Muslim Initiative, both there.
We leave Amman tomorrow and drive to Aqaba for the ferry crossing to Egypt and a Christmas day landing. Fingers crossed for an easy entry into the country...
Saturday 19 December
The dashboard of our little ambulance – donated by Merton PSC is completely covered in flowers now. We've got red carnations, pink carnations, a bouquet of purple and white blooms, and a beautiful single red rose to brighten our journey along the motorways of Turkey.
The generosity of the Turkish people – not just in constantly giving us flowers, but in every possible way – has been simply amazing. They remind us every day of why we're doing this, why we're travelling so far to get into the prison that is Gaza. And they remind us of the importance of getting in and standing in solidarity with its people as they continue to endure with dignity the hell that has been created for them by Israel. There's a kind of excited impatience now to get to Gaza and break that siege, to be with the Palestinian people.
The PSC contingent, travelling in various vehicles, is bonding well. Some imaginative paintwork has gone into decorating the vans, including a 'wicked' graffiti design on the back of South London PSC's van.
Yesterday evening, we arrived in Adana, in southern Turkey, to a red carpet welcome and around 400 cheering Turkish supporters. Flags, flowers and babies-to-be-kissed were handed over, and dinner laid on at the convention centre where we were to stay the night.
Everyone wanted to be photographed with us, and in particular with Jackie, of Portsmouth PSC, who was convinced they must've mistaken her for someone else – the Queen, maybe?
'You've really, really raised awareness of Gaza in Turkey,' one man told me. 'After a year, people were starting to forget, but now news of the convoy is everywhere – on tv, the radio, in the papers. All the blogs and tweets are talking about these people who have driven from London and are travelling through Turkey to Gaza. People want to know what they can do, how they can donate money. You've done a wonderful thing.'
It was lovely to hear these words, to know that we were achieving part of what we'd set out to achieve – to keep Gaza in people's minds, to make sure Israel's inhuman assault for three weeks in 08/09 is never forgotten. All that fundraising back in the UK, all those donations from PSC members and supporters, all that preparation to come out here – it's a wonderful thing to start seeing the fruits of it all.
We are now staying overnight in the Attaturk Sports Complex in Gaziantep, before leaving for the Syrian border tomorrow. Another country, another step closer to Gaza.
Friday 18 December
We're now into our second day in Turkey, and the reception we've had here from ordinary people has been absolutely phenomenal.
A huge crowd of around 400 was waiting at the border as we crossed over from Greece to welcome us, and all the way through Turkey, as we've driven through, people have lined the streets, shouting support, handing us flowers through our open windows, and waving Turkish and Palestinian flags.
When we've stopped for breaks, we've been met by local delegations, including town mayors, and there've been more flowers, flags and innumerable hugs and (for the women from Turkish women) kisses as well. Many of the Turkish women have been in tears, asking us to take their love to the children of Gaza. Everyone has thanked us for what we're doing, and the boost to morale after nearly two weeks on the road has been immense.
And it's not just ordinary people wishing us well. Yesterday, a delegation from the convoy was welcomed in the Turkish Parliament in Ankara by Turkey's deputy prime minister, foreign minister, humanitarian minister and the Speaker of the House.. This was then followed by a welcome in the Palestinian Embassy in Ankara, which was filled with black and white photos of old Palestine. What an honour!
And the convoy has found fame in Turkey, too. Television has carried nearly blanket coverage of our progress through the country, and we've been thrilled to see ourselves on the front pages of the newspapers, when we've stopped for breaks at service stations and checked out the news stands.
We must say a huge thanks to IHH, Turkey's main humanitarian aid agency, which has helped us in the most brilliant ways on our journey through their country – with food and sleep. Lunch and dinner has been provided at all our stops, even when we arrived for a night stop at 3am, coupled with a really warm welcome, and we've been accommodated at night in sports stadiums, sleeping on the floors of sports halls, which has saved us from having to camp outside.
Today we leave Konya and carry on our eastward drive towards Syria, which we hope to enter in the next couple of days.
The enthusiastic warmth and support of the Turkish people, and their obvious support and love for the people of Gaza has been an inspiration to us all. Turkey – Viva Palestina thanks you!
WEEK ONE: From London to Greece – The International Convoy to Gaza begins…
The sunshine at the press conference last Sunday as the fifteen ambulances- dedicated in the memory of those killed during Israel’s assault on Gaza – feels like a lifetime away as we drive through Europe on our mission to show solidarity with the Palestinians in Gaza – along with a healthy dose of breakdowns, losing keys to ambulances (the students) and one passenger not waking up in time to leave the ferry from Ancona to Igumenitsa.
On our first night away from Britain, we arrived to cheers from friends and family of Team VP Belgium. Many of the convoy delegates were camping for the first time so having to camp in a car park with limited toilet facilities and typical British weather (rain and cold if there was any doubt out there) was a good test run to the rest of the week. Since then, we have driven and camped through Luxembourg, Germany, Italy (we didn’t stop in Austria!) and fully qualified to write a book on service stations in Europe where we have spent many breaks and nights getting to know one another and playing midnight football.
As we get closer to the final destination, the reception of the host country gets better. We picked up aid from our Italian supporters and we are currently in Greece, where we were welcomed by the Mayor who put on food and accommodation in a basketball court for us. We had a press conference with the Mayor and two members of Parliament, which really boosted the moral of the group – knowing there is widespread support for our mission. This morning, we had a police escort into the city centre of Thessaloniki as convoy volunteers had a day off from driving. The level of general awareness and sympathy here has made things really easy – including getting free food and escorts when lost.
The logistics of organising nearly two hundred people and finding a secure place to park eighty vehicles full of valuable aid has been no easy task – but things have gone smooth so far. There is a real spirit of comradely unity – as people get to know, help, and cook for each other in their teams. But the real beauty of this convoy is its sheer diversity – with people from all walks of life, skills, ages and nationalities – including nearly all parts of England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, Belgium, Switzerland, Poland, Malaysia, New Zealand, Australia and America and more to come. The international support for the convoy is phenomenal – we have had press contact from around the world, and the practical support from organizations in Malaysia and Turkey – which has given us the means to buy ambulances and aid. Many of the people on convoy came on the previous one in February – having seen the devastation first hand and returning – determined to help.
Next stop: Turkey – where the convoy will double in size as our Turkish, American and British volunteers join us in Istabul on the 16th to drive to Rafah, doubling the amount of aid we are already carrying and united in our goal - to break the siege on Gaza.