Racism, they still don't get it

Many people have weighed into the debate over Dianne Abbot’s comments on twitter. She has quickly apologised, no doubt due to the pressure she has received from within her own party, the Tories and the media.

A wider discussion is required about racism, there are many issues, far more than I can address in this article. One thing is for certain, there is massive ignorance in this country about racism, largely due to a lack of education and understanding of Black history. However, I think I need to clarify that when I use the term Black, I use it as a political term that includes Asians, Muslims etc. When I use the term white I am not referring every single white person –I want to make this clear before I am inundated with messages starting “I’m white and I am not racist”.

Racism has historical roots, it is entrenched in the structures and institutes of society and those that perpetrate it have the power to enact their prejudice and bigotry. Racism is not simply prejudice against people of a particular skin colour. This simplistic definition that journalists, academics and politicians use is not fit for purpose and conveniently ignores the real issues that Black people face in this country and around the world.

Black people are disproportionally stopped and searched, they are up to 26 times more likely to be stopped than white people. Black people are disproportionally represented in the prison system as well as the mental health system. Black people face daily challenges of racism every day of their lives; in the education system, trying to get a job or at airports. White people do not face the same level of discrimination.

Britain colonised countries in the past often using terms as ‘uncivilised’ and ‘savages’ to justify the racist treatment of colonized peoples. It is alarming at how quickly Dianne Abbott was asked to apologise for a statement on Twitter, yet Black people are still waiting for an apology for slavery and colonialism. There are many that say slavery and colonialism are a thing of the past. These people fail to recognise the legacy that this country’s colonialism has left on Black people. We still live with that legacy today, from the division of the sub-continent and Palestine, to the drawing of lines in a map dividing the Arab world or countries in Africa. These issues over borders and territory still remain as sources of tension.

There are no apologies from MPs that have stoked up racism against Muslims, immigrants or anyone else they wish to scapegoat. There are no apologies made to me when I am stopped by security at airports. On one occasion, an officer openly admitted to me that he was using racial profiling.

When issues like this arise, journalists and politicians clamour to find Black people to fit the mainstream opinion and vilify the dissident voice . This is to give legitimacy to their argument, “we’re not racist, look this Black person agrees with us”. On the flip side the colonial mentality left in many Black people is that they will take an argument to have more authority if it comes out the mouth of a white person. The legacy and effects of colonialism are long lasting and hard to shake off.

The presence of Black people in government, police or institutions is pointless if there is no grassroots independent Black voice to hold them to account. Black police officers will carry out the same racist stop-and-search policies as their white counterparts as they are part of the same racist institution. They have no real voice. Many Black leaders are unaware of the challenges Black people face, they are ready to appease their white masters and forget their Black counterparts in the ‘field’.

The media are often seen to be impartial, but in reality are complicit with the establishment and maintaining the status quo. Newsrooms are full of white, middle-class journalists and the few Black journalists they do have are confined to reporting ‘ethnic’ issues- there does seem to be some progress on this issue, but nowhere near fast enough.

Black people face very real challenges every day. Each day if a black person says something or carries out an action, white people hold the entire race to account. If a black child misbehaves in a classroom it is not only that one child but the idea of the misbehaving black child is projected on to the rest of the race. No such reasoning is applied to white people. This is a racist manner of thinking, yet we rarely find these discussions taking place in the mainstream public sphere. Many Black people will be asked about their opinion about Abbott’s comments. This is a racist thing to do – we don’t turn to a random white person in the workplace and ask for their opinion about the statement of a white politician, simply because they are the same colour!

The truth is that the ruling elite in the West is white. Racism is a tool of the ruling elite to divide, conquer and rule people. There will be some Black people in the ruling elite that work to subdue their own people for the sake of profit. Racism is not just a word, it is not just discrimination that white people can also face, it is an entire way of thinking that is entrenched in structures, institutions, has historical routes and most importantly the perpetrators have the power to enforce and enact it. In comparison, white people face nothing of the sort. To those that say that racism is a thing of the past, live the lives we live even for a day and you may understand. Unfortunately the elites of this country, both White and Black, are so far detached that they will never understand what it is like to be called a racist slur that you know has its roots in a colonial soldier that said it to your forefathers thinking him inferior.

Somalis find limited relief in Mogadishu

The look in her eyes tells me all I need to know about what had happened. Even before I ask her, I know she has lost a child. It is a familiar look, one that I have seen, as a journalist, in the eyes of mothers in Pakistan, Bosnia, Palestine and now in this IDP camp in Somalia. But never has it been so raw, so real and so striking.

Jameela Ali lost her two-year-old daughter, Habiba in the morning. Habiba died of measles. Jameela had two children, she tells me that her three-year-old son has also died. Robbiy died in the last month, also of measles. Jameela’s eyes are bloodshot, she has been crying. When I ask Jameela how old she is, she replies, “twenty-two” in a low tone. At the age of twenty-two, Jameela has lost both her children, is living in an IDP camp and has left her home in Bakul, having travelled three days to get to Mogadishu.

The IDP camp is crammed; there is hardly any room to move. Part of the camp is in a derelict building, but the lower walls no longer exsist, the pillars are the only thing that is holding it up. It is a wreck, a destroyed building, but for people without a home it offers a tiny form of cover although it is nowhere near enough. Children lie on the floor asleep for hunger is easier to bear if you sleep. The camp has become the fly capital of the world. There are flies everywhere. A child sleeps on the floor, his face covered with flies; I count at least ten.

How many cases am I to document? I move through the camp, coming across case upon case of malnutrition, measles, chest infections. I do not know what to film, there is too much. There is a constant sound of children crying like the humming of an engine. It becomes normal, the odd sharp, high pitched cry reminding you that it is not normal, it is not meant to be normal and it shouldn’t be normal. The cries are not of children protesting because they do not have toys or cannot watch their favourite cartoon on TV; they are cries of hunger, suffering and pain. I can still hear the cries as I write this, like a constant throbbing sound in the back of my head. The children are probably still crying now, their needs unmet.

Abdul Qadir is not crying. He clings to his grandmother Mumin, tucks his head neatly under her breast and looks, intently, at her face. Only a year old and he is malnourished. After the death of his mother he is now being looked after by his grandmother.
“We lost our animals and had to leave our farm, we have no hope,” says Mumin, looking at her malnourished grandchild. His father Ma’ani looks over him. Mumin now has five children to look after, Abdul Qadir is the weakest. His silence is striking amongst the cries of the camp. It is a sorrowful silence, a silence that can only be understood by a mother, a silence that is looking for his mother, a mother who will never return. The family travelled for three days on foot to reach Mogadishu. They receive a small amount of rice a day from the local community. I have not seen an international NGO here yet; we are the first to arrive. We bring with us hope. But I have only brought a camera and my notepad.

The stories of loss do not stop. Abdi Ibrahim Yunus has lost five children to measles in the space of three days. Abdi looks malnourished, he tells me he is forty-eight but he looks like a little boy, no meat on his body, his skinny arms and legs reveal the extent of his weakness. He has one child left, covered in a flowery cloth, he lies on the floor. The cloth is a barrier to the flies, but it will not offer much protection against measles or hunger.

The camp is a maze of tents, little igloo like structures, made out of wooden sticks that bend and are tied at the top. These tents are tiny; you have to crawl to climb inside. They offer no protection from the rain. There is no sanitation here, there are no toilets. The camp stretches across the road and up a hill, the stench of human faeces hits us as we begin to climb up the maze.

Gabo is sitting on the side of the path in front of her tent. Crouching on the floor, her face rests in her hands. She looks at me, I recognise that look in her eyes, the same look that I had seen in Jameela’s eyes earlier.
“My son died, they have taken him to be buried,” she tells me without moving. Gabo had four children, she has two left. Another son died of hunger on the way to Mogadishu.
“I buried him on the way,” she says before solemnly settling back into her mourning state.

There are over one thousand people in this camp. There will be new arrivals, and there will be more dead children as each day passes. I am set to see the all too familiar look of sorrow in women’s eyes in the days to come as the only visitor in these camps seems to be death.


Another version of the article was published on the Guardian Development page

The end of Al Qaeeda?

The US has announced the leader of Al Qaeeda, Osama Bin Laden, has been killed. What does this mean? On the ground in terms of the US’s fight against terrorism, it means nothing. Al Qaeeda will continue to function as it is. It is not an organisation in the traditional sense of the word. It is an idea, and there are people that affiliate to that idea, that are inspired by it and give themselves the name of the Al Qaeeda brand. That is not going to change.

America has given Osama Bin Laden what he wanted, martyrdom. He is now a martyr for his cause and there are many have followed, and many others who will follow in his footsteps. You can have someone on the other side of the world, that has never set foot in a training camp, has never met Osama bin Laden, and that has never met anyone proclaiming to be from Al Qaeeda, but can still plan and carry out an attack in the name of Al Qaeeda. The Madrid bombings were carried out by people who had never met Osama Bin Laden. Al Qaeeda is a brand and has become a rallying call for those that are frustrated and angry at Western intervention whilst following the hard line Saudi wahabism. America cannot kill that with a team of special forces.

But as the news spreads out across the world, it raises more questions than it answers. Why was Osama bin Laden in a town north of Islamabad, when he could have had sanctuary in Swat, Waziristan or any other tribal area of Pakistan? Why was his body dumped at sea? Not to create a shrine? But if the Americans knew anything about Osama bin Laden and his followers then they would know that hard line Wahabi Salafis do not go to shrines, are vehemently opposed to them and in the case of Somalia go around and destroy them. What traditional Islamic ritual was performed? Did they bathe the body? Pointless if you are going to drop it in the sea. Did they get somebody to perform the Muslim funeral prayer? In between shooting him and loading him onto a helicopter?

Many will be suspicious of the US narrative. Many believe he was killed years ago since he has not played a major frontline role in recent years. Questions are also raised about the role of Pakistan in this. Did the usually all-knowing ISI not know about Bin Laden’s whereabouts, or did they know and choose not to tell? If it is the latter it raises more questions, did they tip the US off or were they harbouring him?

The media narrative, at least in the American press, has been that Bin Laden has finally been brought to justice via a barrel of a gun. A great message to send out, no doubt. But when the Taleban offered to hand over Osama bin Laden to Pakistan so he could be tried in 2001 America refused. Again, this leads many people across the Muslim world to question the premise that the so called war on terror is actually to fight terror.

The common narrative is that this all started with 9/11. In the real world, a world where people have known imperialism, it started a long time before 9/11. It stems from the conquest of Muslim lands and the division of those lands into individual sheikhdoms for dictators the West supported, armed and loved. Our men in the Middle East. Colonial powers drew lines in maps with complete disregard for the people living in those lands. Then those very people were oppressed, physically, mentally and economically. Is it a wonder that people around the world view the West with suspicion?

Al Qaeeda and similar groups will live on as long as Western governments show double standards, hidden agendas and hopes of empire. Now Osama Bin Laden has gone, who will the next bogeyman be?

Bajour Agency refugees in Peshawar

This video shot at the same time as the article 'Refugees and the War on Terror' in January 2009. It was meant to accompany the article.

Welcome to Palestine: A First Hand Account of Arbitrary Detention

I saw the green Israeli military jeep speeding down the Israeli road towards us, the roar of its engine had alerted the Palestinian farmers who had taken cover under a tree, but there were two fences between us. They’re probably just coming to see what we are doing, I told myself. The two soldiers got out of their vehicles M16s in hand, helmets on their heads and their bullet proof vests fastened. They opened the gates and entered the buffer zone between the two fences, and then they opened the second gate and entered Palestinian territory.

Some of the British students taking a walk through the farm, looking at the ancient olive trees, ran as soon as they saw the soldiers. One of the soldiers ran towards me and grabbed me, he attempted to twist my arm behind my back, pushing and shoving me, I resisted. “Stop!” he shouted in my face, all the time trying to twist my arm into some sort of lock. Some of the students protested, but the two soldiers had already grabbed the two brown people in the group and were quickly trying to push us into Israeli territory.

As I resisted mildly, the soldier showed me a small white container that he held in his right hand, “I will use it!” he shouted. I assumed it was CS spray and I did not fancy getting sprayed with it so I had no option but to comply with what their demands. In a matter of minutes a midday stroll through a Palestinian farm, looking at the ancient olive trees with their thick intertwining trunks, trunks that generations of Palestinian farmers have rested against, had turned into an Israeli incursion onto Palestinian territory to snatch a British journalist and five students. The Israeli road serves only the settlement, perched high on the hill top, shaped like a medieval fortress, looking down on the Palestinians, serving as a constant reminder of the inequality they face.

Six of us were dragged into Israeli territory as more jeeps arrived, rushing down the road, soldiers dismounted, M16s in hand, fingers on the triggers, steely eyed and intent. We tried to explain that we were British citizens and that they could not do this. “This is Israeli territory,” said the soldier. “Yes it is, but we were just in Palestinian territory until you dragged us here,” I protested, the soldier just looked away. “You damaged the fence,” said sharply a blue eyed soldier, he looked Eastern European but I could not be sure. We had got close to the fence, but damaged it? That was stretching it, nevertheless this was the official reason they were using to hold us. The soldiers captain arrived, an older man in his mid-thirties of large build. He said his name was Munir, an Arab – Israel regularly recruits Bedouin Arabs from the northern Sinai.

Munir began to ask us for our passports, we told him that we did not have our passports on us - we were not going to hand our passports over to the Israelis, especially since the cloning incident and the foreign office advice not to give our passports to the Israelis- the last thing we wanted was for our names to show up as would be assassins in some foreign country.

Munir questioned me again and again as to my nationality, he found it hard to believe that I was British- it must have been my permanent sun tan. He spoke to us in Arabic, but when we said we did not speak Arabic he asked again but louder, “Are you sure?” he said in Arabic repeatedly. Telling them that I spoke Arabic would open up another barrage of questions that I wanted to avoid.

We were taken to a checkpoint as the sun beat down on us. One soldier was kind enough to bring us a bottle of water, two of the women were taken to a toilet when they asked. We waited in the sun, sitting on the floor using the curb as a seat. We realised that the Israelis had a problem. They had just carried out an incursion onto Palestinian territory that under the Oslo agreement the Palestinian authority and snatched six British citizens. The Israelis may have thought that two of us, being of Asian origin, were Palestinian, but they had made a mistake.

Munir, the captain, got in his jeep and drove away. We waited and watched as another army jeep turned up and they began to empty out the content of one jeep to another. We thought they were emptying out for us, to transport us to another location. By this time we had rung the British consulate. The consulate told us that there was not much that they could do and would give us some names of some lawyers but we had to pay and that they would get back to us the next morning! Good old British foreign service.

A soldier wearing a skull cap came over and asked for our names, we gave them, he did not ask us to spell them. Then, just as we had suddenly been snatched, they escorted us to the gate, and the huge gate opened, “Welcome to Bethlehem,” said the soldiers. We were free. Relieved, hot and tired, we had just tasted and had a very small insight to what it must be like to be a Palestinian. Throughout our time at the checkpoint we could hear Palestinians at the gate and now we had seen the wall from both sides. Welcome to Palestine.

The Israeli Occupation: The Bubble Has to Burst

The Israeli occupation of Palestine has forced Palestinians to live in isolated bubbles, cutting off their struggle from those outside of the major cities, where life has become bearable since the Oslo agreement but has resulted in Palestinians being cut off from each other as settlements criss-cross Palestinian land cutting off one village, one town, one city from another. Profound parallels to Bantustans of apartheid South Africa can be seen.

Lavish houses can be seen in the Palestinian administered territories, three stories high, large front gardens, gated entrances, and nice cars to match. The city of Ramallah is a busy bustling city where the Palestinian administration is based. Round the corner from the tomb of Yasser Arafat a shepherd watches over his sheep on a small patch of green area.

Sulaiman is 80-years-old and reminds me that he is still strong and healthy, behind him, in the distance, stands a tall apartment building. Sulaiman is the old face of Palestine - still resisting in whatever way he can in the face of the new wave of money pouring into the West Bank. However, the acceptance of foreign American cash comes at the cost of accepting the occupation in exchange for American money. People here are talking of a third intifada, but there seems to be no appetite for it from the Fatah controlled Palestinian authority.

Settlements are increasing, not only in East Jerusalem but around Palestinian towns, settlements that will prevent the growth of Palestinian towns, settlements that are built on Palestinian land, settlements that are linked by Israeli only roads that Palestinians are not allowed to travel on, settlements that have stolen Palestinian water delivered to them, whilst Palestinians cannot get permission to even dig a well and have to deal with intermittent water supply for five times the cost, settlements whose inhabitants are armed and have, in the past, used their firearms to kill Palestinians.

So as Salam Fayyad, the Palestinian Prime Minister, formerly of the World Bank, pro-western and unelected, appointed by Mahmoud Abbas, Palestinian National authority president, lavishes in his lush surroundings and is rushing to declare some sort of state within two years, but what kind of state is he going to declare? A state with no control over their borders, air space, a state with Israeli military checkpoints outside their cities, a state whose people are cut off from each other by an illegal wall?

There are refugees who have been living in camps since 1948, camps like Belatta in Nablus. After the Nakba or catastrophe, this camp initially housed 5,000 refugees on 1 square kilometre of land, but now, more than 60 years later the population has grown to 25,000. Yet the population has increased with now second generations of Palestinians living here the land on which they are housed has not grown – they still live on the original square kilometre the camp was established on. The air in the camp is close and the alleyways are claustrophobic. There is no privacy or room to move, the children play in alleys rather than playgrounds. Moving out of the refugee camp is not an option, it would mean an acceptance that the refugees of 1948 do not have a right of return, that they cannot return to their villages, homes, farms that their grandparents once farmed, that they as children once played on and continue to pray that their children will return to.

“The Next Intifada Will take place Between the Villagers and the Settlers”

Salam Fayyad has set his sights on securing foreign investment for Palestine, American and others. The streets have ‘US Aid’ bill boards telling people of the importance of US aid. But outside cities like Ramallah and Nablus talk of the third intifada is rife. Whilst many Palestinians are living in the bubble, sometimes even forgetting about the 400 checkpoints, new settlements are popping up, and expansion in East Jerusalem villagers continues.

“The next intifada will take place between the villagers and the settlers,” a student at Al Najah tells me, who did not want to be named. We are whisked around Al Najah University by the administration, the pro-Fatah administration, showing us their new gym and swimming pool, but students look on in surprise as they have never seen the facilities opened before, they are just for show. Recently the university had elections for its student council, Fatah students won, simply because all other political groups had been banned and then decided to boycott the elections, information the university administration keeps from me, but students are keen to share.

For a university that was at the heart of resistance during the occupation, it has become increasingly repressive to those that are not towing the Fatah line. The university was closed during the first intifada - between 1988-1991 - as tanks occupied its premises, and lecturers were forced to conduct their classes in houses, mosques and even cars. It seems that people have forgotten that at one time the Israeli military arrested people that carried books in the streets, because they had realised that the military order to close the university was not enough to stop Palestinians trying to gain an education.

This is the reality of the past and the present. Villagers are seeing their land taken away, even as Fayyed belly dances around the west asking for handouts so that the Palestinian authority can consolidate its power. A former Israeli prison in Nablus is now a prison run by the Palestinian Authority, where no doubt political opponents are now housed.

Every year droves of tourists visit places like Jerusalem and think that all is fine, you will see soldiers but people will think that is to be expected. But the bubble needs to burst, the bubble that the city Palestinians are living in, the bubble that the Palestinian Authority has created, the bubble the Israeli government is counting on, so that it can further its actions of annexed land, increasing settlements and continuing the occupation of Palestine.

Rafah Border crossing- Aid workers on hunger strike

As medical workers went on hunger strike today at the Rafah border crossing into Gaza in Egypt, Israeli jets could be heard flying overhead, the sound of explosions and vibrations could be felt on the Egyptian side of the Rafah crossing.

No mercy was shown by the Egyptian authorities, who kept the border closed, not even sick Palestinians were allowed through back into Gaza, they were simply told that the border was shut. However there was a great deal of activity at the crossing with military vehicles passing through all day. There were some ‘VIPs’ crossing the Rafah crossing, but it was unclear who they were as the vehicles had blacked out windows and travelled well protected with armed soldiers at the front and rear.
For most of the day the Rafah border has been quiet, only the sound of birds can be heard disturbed by Egyptian military and police vehicles entering the border compound, but everything is periodically drowned out by the piercing screams of Israeli jets as they fly over Gaza.

Reem al Tahloot, 26, arrived from Cairo after receiving treatment for a brain tumour but was told that she could not go home to Gaza as the border was now closed. She was asked why she did not come earlier by the guards even though she had been in hospital and had left at the first opportunity.

70 year old Salaha Skeyg arrived with his 65 year old wife Salma at the Rafah crossing at 6am in the morning, only to be told that it was closed. Salaha Skeyg had been in hospital in Cairo suffering from kidney stones but could not afford for the operation he required to remove his stones that had blocked the passage between the kidneys and bladder and was therefore forced to return to Gaza. Now they wait in the blistering sun of the southern Sinai, sitting, waiting for the Egyptian authorities to show some mercy to allow them back home to be with their family in Gaza.

Meanwhile aid workers continued their hunger strike in protest at the Egyptians not allowing urgent medical help through to the Gaza Strip. British reconstructive surgeon Sonia Robbins-Bolos and her Greek husband Dr Nikolos Bolos of Mercy Malaysia have been waiting to enter Gaza for 40 days, with no avail.
“There have been issues around entering Gaza before, it has always been difficult but nothing like what we are experiencing right now,” said Sonia. Sonia and Nikolos are members of the group of aid workers that have entered into a hunger strike over the Egyptians refusal to allow them entry.

Dr Omar Mangoush a cardiac surgeon from Hammersmith said, “We are trying to enter Gaza, we are doctors, we have a humanitarian mission to carry out but we are being prevented from doing that by the Egyptians and the lack of help from the British consulate.”

Two Irish medics were allowed through into Gaza this Monday which suggests that the Irish consulate has put pressure on the Egyptians to allow their citizens through into Gaza, something that the British are reluctant to do.

The Egyptian intelligence agency is making it as difficult as possible for the hunger strikers, even forcing the local shop at the Rafah crossing to close, where the aid workers were purchasing water and phone cards.

For now the aid workers and Palestinians are waiting in the searing heat of the southern Sinai for the border to open so that they may cross into Gaza, to help and return to their families.

Salama Skeyg pleads with the guards, asking them to let her and her husband pass; her husband has a bag attached to his bladder. She cries out, the sound of her cries drown out everything, the wind, the vehicles and even the Israeli jets. The Egyptian authorities look on, unmoved, untouched by the plight of this old couple who do not even have anything to sit on except a small dirty wall. The police sit on chairs provided by the local cafeteria, but they prevent the owner from allowing anyone else to sit on them.

Oktay Balci an aid worker from Belgium asked the police, “Do you not have a heart? What If she was your mother?” At this the officer looked them straight in the eyes and said, “It is not our decision, we do what we are told.”

Egypt and the rest of the Middle East can be summed up like this. It is not their decision; they do what they are told, whether it is from their governments or foreign powers like America and Israel. But the Palestinians refuse to do what they are told, refuse to accept decisions made by others about their future, and refuse to give up their hopes; this is why they must endure so much punishment at the hands of everyone.