fugitive peace

(More pictures here)

Mostly, the Africans are invisible. You catch a glimpse of dark faces like a hallucination when the kitchen door swings open in just about any of Tel Aviv’s glitzy restaurants and bars, but for all the diners know they are teleported to work, or flown in specially from Sudan each evening.

That’s because most of the diners, like me until last night, have never heard of Levanda street. I stood on Levanda for at least half an hour, and almost everyone who passed by was either African or lost.

The street begins next to Tel Aviv’s central bus station, which pumps passengers in and out 24 hours a day, and runs between workshops and low-rise housing to where the shiny office towers of the business district rear up. Those Africans who have found paying work rent rooms. Those who haven’t are in the basement of the last house on Levanda.

I went with a handful of young Israeli soldiers. Some of them had been in the south the day before, near the Ketsiot prison where Africans who sneak across the porous border with Egypt are held while the UNHCR processes them. They had bumped into a gaggle of Ivorians who, through a bureaucratic snafu, had been released into the empty desert. The Ivorians had heard of this place in Tel Aviv that an NGO had rented as a shelter for migrants. The soldiers arranged for them to be picked up, and then decided to bring them some food.

2,000-odd Africans entered Israel last year, a growing tide encouraged by the news that Israeli soldiers, unlike their counterparts in most of north Africa, don’t shoot migrants (and even help them). Some are refugees from wars and genocide, and some just want a better life.

The ones from Cote d’Ivoire have one of the more uncertain futures. Most of them - so they say, at least - fled the fighting that broke out after a rebellion against Laurent Gbagbo, the president, in 2002. On the recommendation of UNHCR, people from war zones like Darfur get automatic “temporary protection” from the Israeli government, which means the right to stay and work until the UN deems it safe to go back. Until recently, that included Ivorians. But the 11 who arrived at Levanda street this week were among the last batch who might be eligible. The civil war was officially declared over in March, and refugees will now have to prove their case for protection, though they may have left Cote d’Ivoire two or three years ago and have no idea what is going on there.

The 11 new arrivals were mostly young men who said they had been rebels in the war. They were friendly, though still a little annoyed at having been dumped in the desert. An argument broke out between a couple of them about whether talking to journalists was likely to improve their chances of asylum. Then they took us inside.

It’s a small warren of rooms, which judging by the scraps of posters used to be a nightclub. At their estimate, which looked about right, around 100 people are packed in to it. They’ve run out of sleeping space, so some are sleeping outside, in temperatures that have fallen close to freezing. Bags, clothes, mattresses and cooking pots take up almost all the dry floor space. What was once shelving improvises as bunk-beds. They could sleep in the bathrooms if they weren’t inch-deep in diluted urine. A couple of broken, shit-filled toilets are the alternative to relieving themselves outside. Well-wishers have brought some bits and pieces of kitchen equipment, utensils and food. A few, though, clearly have some money, whether sent by relatives, borrowed, earned or stolen; there are a few mobile phones and even the odd MP3 player.

Their plight illustrates how slow the refugee rumour mill is to catch up with reality. When just a few dozens or hundreds were trickling across each year, it was easy for Israel to give them a much better life than they could have elsewhere. “Would you have come if you knew what the conditions were like?” I asked one of them who had been designated as the spokesman. “Not at all,” he said.

The space is divided by nationality: Ivorians in one section, Eritreans in the next. The Eritreans are usually classified by the UNHCR as economic migrants, and have little chance of staying permanently.

Scanning a list of names of people awaiting their UN documents I came across a young Eritrean geography graduate called Aaron. He had excellent English, an easy, ironic smile, and cynical sense of humour. When I asked why he had come to Israel, he gave me such a look that I apologised for asking a stupid question. “No, it’s not stupid,” he said, and looked around us at the pile of blankets and mattresses. “I was just, you know [ironic smile] looking for a better life.” After graduating, he had few job prospects and faced getting drafted into the army. “But I like my freedom. I was born free and I intend to stay free the rest of my life.”

I told him if that George Bush heard him, he would probably get an American passport on the spot. He laughed loud and ironically, declined to be photographed, and then walked out of the shelter to the bus station. A relative from Eritrea had contacted him, asking him to meet yet another new arrival and bring him back to the shelter. Aaron was one of the ones with a phone.

I took his number. He felt like someone I could have met nursing a lazy afternoon drink in any of Tel Aviv’s cafes. I’d like to think he soon will be. I doubt it, though.

We’re nearly there. And it seems I got it wrong when I said that Annapolis might be derailed by Ehud Olmert’s insistence that the Palestinians recognise Israel as a Jewish state before negotiations began. I think the reason is he never actually insisted on it - he just managed to look as though he was.

How I got misled on this is instructive. The funny thing is I sort-of saw it all begin, though I didn’t realise it at the time.

On November 5th, at the Saban Forum dinner at the president’s residence, the Ha’aretz journalist Ari Shavit asked Ahmed Qurei (Abu Ala), the head of the Palestinian negotiating team on Annapolis, whether the Palestinians would recognise Israel as a Jewish state. Ha’aretz reported this, but I first heard it from someone who had come straight from the dinner and was stunned by Abu Ala’s response.

“He could have thrown them a bone,” said my witness. “He could have said something like ‘Come on, guys, you know if it were up to me, you know what I think, but this is an issue that’s part of the talks and we have to leave it for the talks.’ I mean, they’re sitting there in the residence of the president of Israel. But instead he just said ‘let’s leave it for the talks,’ which makes it look to the Israelis like the whole issue of recognising the Jewish state is in question.”

I confess I didn’t take him too seriously. So what if Abu Ala didn’t soft-soap his hosts? He was right on the main point: recognition of Israel as a Jewish state implies renouncing the right of return, so it’s a no-no for Palestinians to concede it except as part of talks.

What I missed was that the media, and then the rightists within the coalition, would turn this into an issue. Within a week Olmert was insisting that “Whoever does not accept [Israel as a Jewish state] cannot hold any negotiations with me” and that “This will be a condition for our recognition of a Palestinian state.” Saeb Erekat retorted that “no state in the world connects its national identity to a religious identity,” which was rather foolish and only infuriated Israel even more.

A few days later Olmert repeated his demand to Javier Solana: the recognition of the Jewish state would be a “foundation for the post-Annapolis negotiations” and “is not subject to either negotiations or discussion.”

Both Israeli and international media interpreted this to mean that Olmert was making Palestinian recognition of the Jewish state a precondition for holding talks. But a close reading shows he never actually did.

When he said that only someone who accepts a Jewish state could hold talks with him, he followed it up with a qualifer: that he was sure Abbas and Salam Fayyad “are committed to prior agreements and want to make peace with Israel as a Jewish state”. In other words, they personally could hold talks with him. And when he said the condition was non-negotiable, he meant there would be no agreement without it — but not that there would be no talks without it.

Thus Olmert was able to make it look like he was bending to the rightists without actually doing so. This week, as if nothing had happened, he repeated that he wanted to complete a final-status deal within a year. If nothing else, you have to give the man his due as a master of manipulation.

Anyway, this week’s issue finally has my piece on Annapolis as well as an editorial written in London that calls on Bush to rescue Annapolis by making his own speech about the shape of a two-state solution, and a cover picture of Bush entitled “Mr Palestine” which I find absolutely hilarious.

The Annapolis doomsday machine is now running at full tilt on the blogosphere: mainstream right-wing blogs like Michelle Malkin and Israpundit are issuing warnings about what a disaster it will be for Israel, while Time magazine’s Middle East blog asks whether the meeting will achieve anything.

I think it’s again fair to ask whether it will even happen. Ehud Olmert has been insisting that the Palestinians recognise Israel as a Jewish state as a precondition to the final-status talks that are to take place after Annapolis. The Palestinians are refusing.

That might seem silly; after all, the whole point of the two-state solution is that Israel will be a Jewish state and Palestine will be a Palestinian state. However, recognising Israel as a Jewish state means giving up the principle of the right of return of Palestinian refugees to Israel proper, since if all the refugees came back Jews would become a minority in Israel. The Palestinians know full well they will have to give this up anyway; the best they can hope for is that Israel agree to let in a certain number of refugees each year, as proposed in the Geneva Initiative. But this is meant to be part of the give-and-take of the final-status negotiations. Israel is trying to make the Palestinians concede it in advance.

Why? Probably simply because it can. As I described in my last post, a fortnight ago Abu Mazen caved in on his demand that the Annapolis meeting include a declaration pinning down the basics of the final-status agreement and a firm, six-month deadline for completing final-status talks. All he got in return was a non-committal agreement from Olmert to try to finish the talks within a year. In doing so he showed his weakness. Olmert, ever mindful of right-wingers in his coalition threatening to scuttle the talks, took advantage of this to try to shore himself up politically, as well as improve his own bargaining position before the talks begin.

Did he do this with American approval? I doubt it. Now, however, he can’t back down even if he wants to. Avigdor Lieberman, whose Yisrael Beiteinu party is the right-wing linchpin in the coalition, is playing political one-upmanship on the prime minister by trying to get Olmert’s pre-condition voted on in the cabinet and possibly passed as a law. The latter would be pretty easy. Some liberal Israeli commentators are tearing their hair out at Olmert’s demand — “like denying the legitimacy of our own national existence,” wrote Yoel Marcus in Ha’aretz — but very few Israeli politicians would dare to refuse to support it.

This, I surmise, is why we still have no fixed date or invitations for Annapolis, two weeks before it’s supposed to take place. And Abu Mazen must be facing the dilemma of his lifetime. He fears that if he refuses Olmert’s pre-condition, the US will pull the rug out from under his feet; but that if he accepts it, the entire Arab world will brand him a traitor.

Kadesh Barnea is literally the last stop before Egypt. About 50 yards after the turn-off to the moshav is a decrepit military observation tower and a sign saying “Official Vehicles Only”. The border fence runs alongside the road. We didn’t think it could be the border fence, until I switched off the car engine and we heard Egyptian music issuing from a tinny radio in a hut on the other side. The Egyptians helpfully waved their torches at the Israeli soldiers patrolling somewhere down the road to warn them that someone might be trying to trespass.

It is an incongruous part of the country. As you drive down from Jerusalem, the towns give way to sprawling Bedouin villages that are fighting a losing battle for recognition and state services. Then the encampments thin out, and for a while there is nothing but army bases, prisons and war memorials, whose very remoteness seems itself a form of mourning. There are also some really weird road signs. As we approached the border, with the sun about to set, the slight background claustrophobia that accompanies wherever I go in this tiny country fell away, and I became suddenly aware of the immensity of the Sinai desert opening up ahead.

The incongruity did not end there. Avishai Pinchas, the hero of this week’s story, brought some 50 Sudanese refugees to stay in a series of huts in his back yard. Why does he have a series of huts in his back yard? Because Avishai, who seems at first to be just what you would expect of a third-generation Israeli Jew from a Yemenite family - practical, unassuming, right-of-centre - is actually a messianic Jew (meaning that he believes Jesus was the son of God but not in all the subsequent paraphernalia of Christianity, though the details of messianic Jewish belief vary considerably). His wife, Yolanda, was raised a Protestant in Holland. The huts are for other messianic Jews who come to the moshav for retreats, to meditate surrounded by the harsh beauty of the desert.

As Yolanda tells it, Avishai woke up one Saturday morning with a feeling that God had spoken to him and told him to help the Sudanese “because we too were refugees from Egypt”. (A campaign for Amnesty International against the deportations employed a similar tug on the heartstrings: images of refugees with a song in an African language to the tune of the Israeli national anthem). That same evening a friend called to tell him that some refugees staying at a hotel in Beersheva were in danger of being sent back to Egypt unless they found more steady accommodation. The next morning he hired a bus and brought the biggest families back to the ranch. At least one other messianic family in Israel is hosting Sudanese too.

The women have hair-raising stories of the treatment they got in Egypt, but as the night set in they sat outside under the kind of star-field that only the desert can display, talking and shrieking with laughter as the extended Pinchas family and friends tried to teach them Hebrew. The children seemed healthy and boisterous, and the Pinchas children seem to have adopted them all as siblings, at least when it comes to watching TV…

(Note added September 4th: in the original I mistakenly referred to Kadesh Barnea as a kibbutz. It is actually a moshav, a communal settlement. Thanks to Hanan Cohen for the tip-off.)

Just back from seeing “Jerusalem - The East Side Story”, which was being screened to a selection of Ramallah’s great and good, among them Rafiq Husseini, Mahmoud Abbas’s chief of staff. Unlike “West Bank Story“, an Oscar-winning musical comedy about rival Israeli and Palestinian falafel families, this is a worthy but relentless litany of the injustices Israel has visited on the Palestinians of East Jerusalem in its attempts to create a unified Jewish capital.

The film is largely (and tragically) accurate, but like most propaganda in this conflict, makes too few nods to the other side’s narrative to win over many viewers who don’t already sympathise with its message. For 70 minutes the narrator pummels us in the doom-laden tone that wildlife presenters usually reserve for the moment when a nestful of cute goslings is about to be devoured by a feral cat. You come out wanting to slit your veins, or preferably the narrator’s. Still, it has two good moments.

One is an interview with Husseini’s boss, the president of Palestine, recounting one of his favourite to-camera stories: how he showed the map of Israel’s separation barrier to George Bush in 2003. According to Abbas (though it varies slightly with each telling), Bush was furious and told Dick Cheney, “this is not a state”. Abbas looks proud and self-satisfied. The audience, until then respectfully transfixed, started laughing and jeering. They jeered even more when Bush appeared, awkwardly telling the press, “This wall is… uh… a problem.” I wished I could have seen Husseini’s face at that point.

The second is of an elderly Palestinian woman, with title deeds and old photos in hand, coming to see the house in West Jerusalem that she fled as a child. The camera follows her as a group of Israelis strolls past. She watches them recede, then sums up the whole conflict as well and as succinctly as anyone I’ve ever heard. “We live in fantasy,” she sighs, “and they live in denial.”