“Conversation” (?) or rather, Interrogation # 2

As previously discussed, my reconstructions of these questioning sessions are necessarily partial, in both senses (somewhat biased and somewhat incomplete), since they are based on summary notes which I took shortly afterwards and my own (fallible) memory.

My final security interview at Ben Gurion airport immigration holding area, Apartheid State of Israel. Just before midnight, night of November 9, prior to my deportation by an El Al flight to Toronto on the morning of November  10. This time there was an interrogator plus two other plainclothes officers, who said little but frisked me (yet again: after over a dozen searches in six days, it is not as if I can actually have anything of interest hidden on my person at this point. Ritual searches seem to be a national pass-time in Israel). I am offered coffee and sweets, which I decline.

My name is Dani. We are going have another conversation before deciding whether you can board the plane back to Canada.
When will I get my documents and my confiscated property back?

We don’t know anything about property. You will get your passport back from the flight crew. I am going to ask you some questions now. How are you feeling?
How would you feel if you’d been kidnapped, assaulted and robbed?

You were hurt? Can you tell me by who and when? Do you need anything now?
I was kneed in the thigh and bruised when I was removed from the Tahrir by force. I didn’t get any names or badges, it was dark.  What I need is our boat to be returned, can you arrange that?

I don’t think so.  What is the name of your organization?
The Canadian Boat to Gaza, this is a matter of public record, you can find us on the internet. Can I have my Canadian consular representative present for this interview? (Ehab and I had met with the vice-consult shortly before).

No, he has left already. How many people are involved in your organization?
Enough.

What do you mean, enough?

I mean that we have enough volunteers to keep the organization running.

Where do you live?
Also a matter of public record: London, Ontario, Canada.We were told we would get our electronic equipment returned before we board our flight out of Israel.

I don`t have any information about that. Where did your boat depart from in Turkey?
That is public information, you can find it on our website and in our press releases. Do you need help with finding information on the internet too? I thought Israelis were supposed to be good with technology. 

I don’t have a computer here. Maybe you can tell me where and when you left from in Turkey?
You have my passport (he is holding it, I point and he opens it). There is a departure stamp in it: see, the port of Fethiye, November 4.

And is that where you arrived in Turkey?
This information is also in my passport:  see, an entry stamp on October 29. Can I have my passport back now?

No, not now. So where did you stay for the time between your arrival and your departure?
I stayed at a hotel between the airport where I landed and the port of Fethiye.

How far from the port did you stay?
It’s maybe 45 minutes or an hour’s drive.

How did you get there?
I shared a taxi with some others delegates, and some of the journalists.

You were responsible for getting the journalists to the port?
We shared a taxi to split the cost. People were responsible for getting themselves there.

You were in charge of contacting and organizing the journalists?
They didn’t need a lot of organizing, mostly.  Different people contacted different journalists and media outlets.

But you were in charge of controlling the messages to the journalists?
We don’t try to control what journalists say or write, unlike you. We just let them do their jobs.

He consults a yellow note pad. How did you learn so much about computers?
I laugh out loud.

Did I say something funny?
If you think I know about computers, your sources are even less reliable than I thought.

We know because we have this picture. (he shows me a print-out of this photo:

 which was published on Rabble on November 3 -- so apparently they did have people capable of searching the internet afterall).

That is a picture of me at a computer on the Tahrir. I think everyone on board used the computers at different times – you know, to send e-mail and stuff.

But someone must’ve been responsible for setting up the communications systems.
Different people did different tasks. We work as a team. Can I go now?

Not yet, the night is still young. Maybe you will make it in time for your flight. Do you consider your campaign a success?
At this point, yes. I will have a better idea when I see the media back home.

You successfully kept your departure a secret.

Wouldn`t you, considering the sabotage that happened to another boat in June?

We do not agree that was sabotage.
As I told one of your colleagues the other day, there are a lot of things we aren`t going to agree about.

He asked many more questions, some of them frankly bizarre: when and why I had learned French and Spanish, did I know much Arabic (almost none), then he offered “advice” about what variety of Arabic I should study. He asked about my colleagues at the University of Western Ontario French Studies Department, about why a university professor would be involved in challenging a military blockade, about my contacts with Gaza and my history with the peace movement.  I gave answers which were as short as possible, sticking as much as possible to publicly available information. He eventually came back to a question his colleague had asked earlier:

You do not look as old as the age shown in your passport.
(For that I had a variant of the same answer as earlier):
 Solidarity keeps us young, you guys should try it.
For which he had clearly prepared  a (somewhat menacing) response:
Maybe it would be safer for you to try something less dangerous to keep young, like sports perhaps.

He concluded:
Maybe one day there will be peace between our countries and you can visit Israel under different circumstances.
I hope one day to visit a free Palestine.

I was not taken back to the airport detention cell where I had left Ehab, Michael and Fintan, but rather directly to a jeep with screened-in back seats. My bag and Ehab’s were already there. I got in alone, then heard Ehab speak to me through the screen and I realised he was in the other rear compartment which I could not see. We were driven directly to the tarmac, our bags were taken out, then Ehab was marched up the steps to the airplane. After what seemed like a very long wait (was I going to be taken for questioning again?) I was finally ushered up the steps and on board. Ehab and I were seated together at the rear of the plane; we did not receive any word of our confiscated property, and we only received our passports from Canadian immigration officials at Pearson airport after being escorted there by a member of the El Al flight crew.

Musical winterlude

While my feelings on this time of the year might not go as far at to list Top Ten Things I hate about Christmas like my friend and blogging idol Laura on We move to Canada, I completely concur with her #2 hated item. One of the seasonal hazards of this time of year is the ghastly “festive” muzak which is piped into all sorts of public places, especially where people are supposed to be shopping. I think it must even offend a lot of people who (sometimes) believe in or celebrate (at least some) aspects of Christmas. I suspect if serious market research were done, malls would discover that people would be happier to go and shop to almost any other soundtrack, and that a significant portion of the the shopping public actively stays away from stores at this time of year specifically because of the schlocky muzak.

This auditory drek is particularly insidious for anyone susceptible to ear worms. Even though I avoid malls and other muzak-infested spaces at this time of the year (and am very careful when I turn on the radio), even a short exposure can leave me involuntarily humming or whistling one of those goddam tunes for hours afterwards.

For many years my personal antidote to "festive" muzak has been Tom Lehrer's Christmas Carol -- his attempt to capture the true, commercial spirit of Christmas, as celebrated in North America: buy buy buy! Decades old, but like a lot of Lehrer's material, it never seems to go out of style (alas). His songs like Send the Marines and Pollution could’ve been written this year: he is reputed to have abandoned writing when they gave Kissinger the Nobel Peace Prize (because “satire had become obsolete”). That story may be apocryphal, but it must’ve been depressing to have joked in the 1960s about Ronald Reagan going into politics (to huge laughter from his audience) only to live to see the bad B actor become POTUS.

Lehrer’s twisted rhymes and even more twisted humour were what I like to call a deformative influence on my childhood: many happy hours were spend listening to his albums. I even sang his Masochism Tango at a school concert at Kensington Community School, with my teacher and friend David Chong at the piano (considering the lyrics, it is difficult to imagine an elementary student or teacher getting away with such a performance today). His parodic Christmas carol also has catchy tune that was set down in my impressionable young memory as a child, so it is always effective in obliterating whatever schlocky ear-worms manage to creep in (though repeated applications are sometimes necessary by late December).

In a similar vein (though I have yet to learn the song), the incomparable David Rovics (who has many great songs which I recommend, on topics from Bradley Manning to the Mavi Marmara, and much more) recently sent his most new seasonal offering If I hear another Chrismas Song I think I'm gonna puke (with the note "this is not a children's song and it is not radio-friendly" but based on my personal history, I would say, 

depnds on the kids...)

(This post was originally a comment on Laura`s blog, which I then realised was worth working up into a post of my own...). I will return to other topics soon, but meanwhile let me leave you with a link to a classic Tom Lehrer playlist on Youtube -- good for what ails us at this time of year (and others).

“Conversation” (?) or rather, Interrogation # 1

I have described elsewhere how the Tahrir was boarded on afternoon of Friday November 4 2011 by overwhelming Israeli military force. Immediately following the assault on our vessel, we were all searched at gunpoint and most of our property and equipment confiscated. We are searched again at dockside in the port of Ashdod and then strip-searched in tents set up in a warehouse, before being bused (two of us in handcuffs and leg shackles) to an immigration processing centre. 

From the moment of my forced arrival in Israel, I repeatedly asked all the Israelis I met (and there were dozens over the course of those hours) for four things: I would like my passport returned, I would like to speak to a lawyer of my choosing, I would like to meet with Canadian consular staff and I would like to have our property (including our boat) returned. My repeated requests were of course ignored or dismissed. The following reconstruction of one of those “conversations”, based on notes I was able to take shortly after the events (while in prison and traveling home that week), is  necessarily partial (in both senses of the word: incomplete and somewhat biased) but they offer a flavour of what it was like interacting with Israel officials.

Security interview at immigration processing centre, Apartheid State of Israel, night of November 4. After finger-printing and being offered (and refusing to sign) a form which recognizes that I have entered Israeli illegally, I was selected to a “conversation” with a security officer. Three other plainclothes officers are in the room in addition to the interrogator, who begins by denying that he works for the security services.  

I do not work in security, I just have to ask you some questions to fill in this form. What is your name?
You have all my documents, you know my name. When will our confiscated property be returned?

Later. Your place of birth?
Also on my passport.  I would like to speak to my lawyer now please.

Mother`s name and father`s name?
What does it matter to you? Can I see my consular representative now please?

I need this information to fill out this form…
So, what are your mother and father`s names?

My parents? Their names are Avram and Sara.
Are Sarah and Avram proud that their son is an accomplice to piracy and kidnapping?

I ask the questions here. Your passport says you are 45, you don’t look that old.
Pacifism keeps us young, you guys should try it. Speaking of my passport, can I have it back please?

Not now. Did you know there was a military blockade of Gaza?
I do not recognize your authority to enforce that blockade: it is illegal in international law. Can I please contact Canadian consular officials now?

We do not agree about the legality of the blockade.
There are a lot of things we are not going to agree about, we could be here a while if you want to cover them all. Can I please see a lawyer now?

Why did you come here if you knew Gaza was under a military blockade?
Why did people of conscience go the southern U.S. to challenge segregation? Why did some people hide European Jews during the second world war?

But you knew there was some possibility of physical danger to yourself? Possibly some legal consequences in your country?
There was also danger and possible legal consequences in opposing segregation and in hiding people who needed to be hidden, but those were still the right things to do. When will I have my confiscated property returned?

Later, at the airport. One of the other officers hands him a note on a yellow pad. This was not the first time you tried to travel to Gaza?
It is a matter of public record that I was involved with organizing the Gaza Freedom March in 2009-2010  and went to Egypt with the Canadian delegation. It is also public information, on our website, that I am part of the Canadian boat to Gaza steering committee and I went to Greece in June and July of this year to try to sail to Gaza. You can also see the stamps in my passport for each of these trips, so there is really no reason to ask these questions. Can I have my passport back please?

Not now. We do not have this information you say is on your website, we do not know where to find it.
I don’t think you brought me here to give lessons on how to use Google. The information you are asking about is freely and publicly available. If you have only obvious questions to ask, can I please see my consular officials now?

He goes to look for some papers in another office, leaving my with his three colleagues.  I ask what their work is, and two of confirm that they work in security, the other says he “works everywhere”. When my interrogator returns, I congratulate him on his colleagues’ (relative) honesty in at least admitting what their work really is. After more pointless questioning, I am returned to the waiting area with the others.

How can I keep from singing?

This song is part of what kept me going while imprisoned in Israel for six days, following the capture at sea of the Tahrir (the Canadian Boat to Gaza) on November 4, 2011.

My life flows on in endless song, above earth's lamentation
I hear that real, though far-off hymn that hails a new creation.
Through all the tumult and the strife, I hear that music ringing.
It sounds an echo in my soul: how can I keep from singing?

What though the tempest round me roar, I hear the truth it liveth.
What though the darkness round me close, songs in the night it giveth.
No storm can shake my inmost calm while to that rock I'm clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth, how can I keep from singing?

When men and women conquer fear, with prison doors wide swinging.*
When friends rejoice both far and near, how can I keep from singing?
In prison cell or dungeon vile, our thoughts to them are winging.
When friends by shame are undefiled, how can I keep from singing?

There are a number of versions of this song, originally a Christian hymn, but the one I was familiar with since childhood was as recorded by (among others) Pete Seeger, which downplays religious aspects of the lyrics (How can I keep from singing? is also the title of Seeger's biography by David King Dunaway). However, the line at the beginning of the third verse in that version:

*When tyrants tremble, sick with fear, and hear their death-knell ringing,


has long troubled me, since I oppose the death penalty for anyone, even tyrants. As a teen, I rewrote the line in a sort of half-assed way ( ... and hear those peace bells ringing -- only two words changed, and still leaves the question, why should even tyrants be "sick with fear"?) but only for my own use, and perhaps singing to my kids, in later years.

(As an aside on this point, I entirely concur with Ariel Dorfman, who wrote in an open letter to the bloody-handed ex-dictator Augusto Pinochet following the latter's arrest: I want you to know, General, that I do not believe in capital punishment. What I do believe in is human redemption. ...I highly recommend the full interview, especially Dorfman's poetic "sentence" for Pinochet's crimes... but I digress...).

So when a few years ago I began singing (again) with my dad, who has been suffering from Alzheimer's now for some five years, this song was a natural part of our shared repertoire, and that particular verse of course came up as problematic, for both of us. He told me someone at their church had a better replacement verse for that line, so I asked my friend Becca Whitla, music director at Holy Trinity in downtown Toronto (my parents' congregation and the one I grew up in). She told me about the powerful new line I now use at the beginning of the third verse:


When men and women conquer fear, with prison doors wide swinging,


and she also told me that the person who had penned the substitution was in fact dad (he no longer recalls having composed the change -- only that there is a better verse). At the time, of course, I had no idea how that new line would end up speaking to me.

So all of this added up to a pretty heavy emotional charge for me when I sang this song in prison, mostly as a sort of personal meditation (since I never did get around to learning how to meditate "properly"). I knew that evoking memories of dad (and of my family more generally) would make me cry, and my personal concentration "game" was that I had to sing it through completely, without stumbling, or start over, repeating until I got it right and complete. The somewhat controlled crying response was also, I think, a healthy outlet.

Those last four lines were also the message I sent my family when I had a chance to get a message out of the prison -- a bit cryptic, perhaps, but my hope was that the message would read clearly as one of hope. It prompted another memory from my sister Margaret, who recalled that when Québec trade-unionist and socialist Michel Chartrand was jailed for four months in 1970 (under the War Measures Act), dad wrote to him and sent him this song (with Margaret's translation into French, now sadly lost).

There were other songs I sang while in prison in Israel (perhaps I will write about them too) but this was the one I came back to in order to pull myself together and face whatever we had to face. We prepared for many things during the long lead-up to the voyage of the Tahrir, but I never realised that I would find my way back to these songs. I have very few regrets about the whole experience -- as I have said more than once publicly, I would go again in a heart-beat -- but if I had to do it over, I wish I had begun singing earlier, on the deck of the Tahrir.