To Mossad (Israeli secret police), the C.I.A. (U.S.A. ditto), some
juvenile Peace-hater or Hate-worshipper, a fanatic anti-Palestinian, or
even-more-fanatic believer that "Israel can do NO wrong!" To WHOEVER
it is who has been sabotaging this web-site AND my personal e-mail account ever
since I announced my intention of publishing this tribute to Rachel, I ask the following
favour of you: Read through this tribute page (both the introduction and the
poems) CAREFULLY AND WITH AN OPEN MIND. Then write to me (contact address given
at bottom of the page) and explain to me just WHAT you find in it so
objectionable. I, too, will try to read your comments carefully and with an
open mind. Let's be honest: having my web-site and my e-mail account sabotaged
is a tiny price to pay compared to what Rachel paid. And frankly, even if you
went to the ridiculous extreme of killing me, too, THAT would be (in my
opinion) a small price compared to hers. Because I'll soon be 52 years old,
I've had a (reasonably) long and full life. Rachel never even made it to 24.
She had EVERYTHING to live for. And WE ALL would have had so much to gain if
she'd lived to fulfill her potential... You may try to silence us, one by one.
But you'll never be able to silence us all. And new voices will lift up. And be
heard.
To the Congress of the United States Of America: It is one thing to
support your friends. It is one thing to always vote to the benefit (or at
least never to vote AGAINST the wishes) of one of the most powerful political
lobbies that exist, succumbing to their implicit blackmail that "If you
vote against us, you're politically DEAD!" It is another thing to stand
(or sit) with your arms crossed while these "friends" or blackmailers
are killing innocent children. (Some people would say "ESPECIALLY when
they're killing one of your OWN children!" Personally, I think it shouldn't
make a difference.) I would like to invite you all to take some inspiration
from some of those wacky religious sects and commit MASS POLITICAL SUICIDE.
Defy the lobby. Support the Corrie family's struggle for Justice in the case of
their daughter's death. You may lose your collective seats in Congress. But you
will win your own self respect. AND the respect of the majority of the world's
population. Perhaps - who knows? - even the respect of the majority of U.S.
voters.
For those of you who might not know, Rachel Corrie was a Peace
activist/volunteer who spent time in Gaza, living with Palestinians, sharing
their lives, witnessing what was happening to them. Early in 2003, before she
turned 24, while standing in front of a Palestinian home in an attempt to
protect it from being razed by the Israeli Army, she was crushed to death by a
bulldozer. This is not the place to go into all the details – you can find them
[or links to them] at www.rachelcorriefoundation.org
This here is my own personal tribute. I created it because - although I never
met her - her story, the e-mails she sent to her family from Gaza [you can read
some of these
at the web-site mentioned above], and the effect she’s had on other people’s lives,
have all moved me very deeply. In the short time since I first chanced upon her
story, I’ve been inspired to write a cycle of poems, significantly change one
of my “fairy tales”, and get a new perspective on my long-awaited novel [well, I’ve been awaiting it long…]
On this page you’ll find an open letter to her
parents, and the poems I wrote. But first I think it’s important to make a few
things clear:
1) I originally hoped this web-site would reach
younger readers. I have no way of knowing the age of people who look in on it,
but in case some of these younger readers look in on this particular page I
want to explain the use of sarcasm. Sarcasm means saying something completely
different from what you really believe or feel. Sometimes the exact opposite.
There are various types of sarcasm: angry sarcasm, condescending (sneering)
sarcasm, jokey, friendly sarcasm… It turns out that I wrote the first poem
"Another Song For Rachel" in sad sarcasm. Why? Well, that’s the way the poem “came to me”.
Why? Well, imagine a young woman who cares enough about the suffering of others
she doesn’t even know to go live among them for a time, to
bring them a message of solidarity and caring. While doing this, she is killed.
This fact makes international headlines, and, in Internet, blogs start up about
her. In one of these blogs, someone writes his opinion that “she was protecting what? terrorists... she should burn in
hell for an eternity.” They wrote this without ever knowing her - and five days
after she was killed, when her family and friends must have been going through agony.
I ask myself how it’s possible for someone to be so sure that THEY
are right and the OTHER is wrong, and SO
wrong that they deserve to “burn in hell for an
eternity.” It saddens me, and my sadness came out in sarcasm in this
poem. So just bear in mind that the poem expresses some feelings entirely
opposite to my own.
2) I am NOT anti-Semitic, nor am I anti-Jewish. And –
being a pedant – I’ll point out that “Jewish” is NOT synonymous with “Israeli”,
so I’ll add that I’m NOT anti-Israeli. As far as I know, I am only personally
acquainted with one Israeli citizen. And he is definitely a friend. But what I
most certainlyAM ‘anti’ is anti-hypocrisy. Especially when
hypocrisy is used by the powerful to justify bullying those who are weaker. I
object most
strongly to the State of Israel hiding behind this smokescreen
they throw up of accusing others of “anti-Semitism” to silence criticism of the
cruel policies they have been carrying out in the occupied territories. And
I’ll admit that any country/people/religion that considers
itself “God’s Chosen People” makes me feel very queasy. This goes for Israel,
but also for the USA and many others. I would ask any of you intelligent people
out there to PLEASE explain to me
where the difference lies between calling yourself “God’s Chosen People”, or “The
Defenders Of Democracy” and calling yourself “The Master Race”. All three seem
to me terms self-awarded to justify using any tactics at all to get your own way. After all, then
you can tell yourself that “They” are beneath “Us”, either through God’s
decree, through underdeveloped political savvy, or genetically. I'd like here
to quote from a wonderful song, "War Crimes" by a wonderful band, The Special A.K.A. [Forgive me here
for this digression: may I just point out that another song by The Special
A.K.A., “Free Nelson Mandela”, is – in my opinion – the best protest song ever.]:
"From the graves of Belsen where the innocent were burned / To the
genocide in Beirut [you can read here: Gaza,
Golan...], Israel was nothing learned?"
3) I think it’s important to keep a few things in
perspective:
a) Rachel was not more important than the people whose
lives she was sharing. The senseless death or suffering of anybody should sadden us.
The fact that 4-year-olds are killed by “stray” bullets should sicken us all.
And I don’t think that she was better than her fellow volunteers from the International Solidarity
Movement. But it’s a cruel twist of fate that if she hadn’t died, I would
probably never have read her account of her/their time and work in Gaza. And
that – ironically - is what brought her to life for me. Because one thing that was special about her was her talent
for writing about her observations and feelings, the people she met, and her
work. Her ability to make her readers feel with her. That talent has gone from us.
The message hasn’t.
b) Rachel believed that she was safe, that “they”
wouldn’t dare really harm her because she was a westerner, a USA citizen. We
know now how wrong she was. We shouldn’t refuse to share her purity of spirit,
but let’s not share her naïveté.
c) Rachel didn’t “give her life for some misguided
cause” as some of these bloggers assert. She didn’t “give her life” for ANY cause. It was STOLEN
from her. Let’s ALL be clear about that.
d) Rachel didn’t go to Palestine to become a martyr. It
is absolutely clear from her e-mails home that she wanted to live, that she
wanted to enjoy life, that she wanted to dance. But she was sensitive enough to
refuse to “stay at home” and “look the other way”. She would have felt guilty
doing nothing. So should we all…
e) I’m not suggesting we should ALL go and stand in front
of the bulldozers and the tanks [though, when I think about it, wouldn’t it be
a buzz
if we ALL did ?!] But surely ALL of us who have been touched by her
[and others’] example should refuse – like her – to look the other way. If ALL
of us decided to do at least something
to bring about Peace, couldn’t we make it impossible for “them” to wage War?
Maybe I am as naïve as Rachel,
after all… But just “(What’s So Funny ’Bout) Peace, Love, And Understanding?!”
4) The poem mentioned above, "Another Song For Rachel", was the first poem that
"came to me". (It can be understood as coming from the mouth of the
bulldozer driver who killed Rachel. Or – more generally – anybody involved in “the
forces of occupation” all over the world.) But - although I'm proud of
it - I couldn't help but be bothered by the fact that I'd given voice to
someone I don't agree with at all, and NOT to those I do agree with. Well, now
I'm very glad that I wrote this poem first.
If I'd written one in praise of Rachel, I might have stopped there. But this
being-bothered fermented away inside me, and after some days the cork popped and
the beginnings of another poem came bubbling out. I can't say that I'm finished
yet. Every now and then a new voice joins in. And I keep thinking I've finished
Mr. Bush' contribution, but after a few days he opens up his big mouth and
sings another verse or two for me.
5) Let me make one thing perfectly clear: I have never
actually spoken to any of these "singers" [aside from myself - I have
VERY long conversations with me.] I have received an
e-mail or two from Rachel's sister, Sarah, and her "song" was inspired
by some of her very kind words. You could say that - with the exception of the
3 Corrie women (Rachel, Sarah, and their mother Cindy), myself, and Mr. Bush -
I invented the rest of the singers [I think Karl Rove invented Mr. Bush]. But
the funny thing is that they seem so real to me. From what I've read about -
and by - Rachel, it's easy to imagine that one or more of her fellow ISM
volunteers might have fallen in love with her, yet been shy enough to not say
anything. And I've read in her e-mails of the affection some of the
Palestinians (perhaps especially the older women) showed for her. I'd like to
believe that somewhere in Gaza there's a jaddati (grandmother) who felt for her
as the (imaginary?) one who "spoke" to me. And who knows: perhaps she
does exist, and her feelings for Rachel were strong
enough to leap across thousands of kilometres and tell me EXACTLY
what to write down.
6) One more point: I don't want to take credit where
it isn't due. Within the "Song Cycle" you'll find words printed in
different colours. Aside from the rainbow sequence in the last line of the
fourth voice, the words written in lilac are REALLY
Rachel's: where I included words of my own (within her quote) or subtracted
words of hers - and I NEVER did this to change her meaning: it was ALWAYS to
help the poem either rhyme or scan - I have indicated this by [black square
brackets]. I'll admit that I haven't always been completely successful as far
as scanning goes, but this was because I didn't want to remove any more than I
did. The passion behind her words would have been watered down if I'd gone for
a really smooth rhythm... The words in black in the rest of the poem are mine,
but I sincerely hope that they aren't too out of line with what Rachel believed
and felt. The words in red are not always exact
quotes, but in every case express at least the gist of some of Rachel's
detractors: the blogger mentioned above and spokespeople for the Israeli Army
and/or Government. I couldn't have written "Sarah's Song" or “Cindy’s
Song” (or – of course – “Rachel’s Song”) without their words to inspire me
[though in the first two cases, I’ve paraphrased quite a bit]. Because of this,
I’ve credited them with co-authorship. This does NOT mean that they sat down
with me to write the poems together. Nor did they ask to be credited. It was my
decision. Many of the sentiments in “Cindy’s Song” were expressed by her in
articles and press statements, and Sarah (as I’ve written above) wrote to me. I
hope they’re not deceived by the form I put their words into. I have tried to
be careful not to put words into their mouths that they wouldn’t agree with,
but readers should be aware that there is
a degree of invention on my part. There are links in underlined blue in "Voice of George W." for those of you who don't
know what I'm talking about. If you click on them, they’ll take you to
(sometimes long and involved) web pages that’ll explain what I’m hinting at. [I
couldn’t find a web-site that includes the words inscribed on The Statue Of
Liberty (without swamping them under other material), so have printed them out
at the foot of this page.] And finally, the graffito
on a wall in Rafah. This is quoted directly from an eyewitness account. I don't
actually know who really wrote it, and hope they forgive me for assigning it to
"Mohammed"...
An open letter to Rachel’s
Parents
April, 2005
Dear Cindy and
Craig Corrie,
I was out in the wilds when Rachel was killed and the news hit the
headlines. I only found out this year - this month - because of Katherine Viner’s article for The Guardian on her job of
editing Rachel’s writings for the Theatre Upstairs play put on at the Royal Court theatre,
London. That article moved me so much that I looked up The Guardian’s files on
“Rachel Corrie” and read as much as I could about her, and by her. Since then,
every day I think about her – some days a few minutes: some days longer. It’s
not that I set out to think about her: just that she’ll pop into my head while
I’m doing building work, while I’m weeding in the garden, while I’m listening
to music… And most days, when this has happened, I’ve ended up crying...
I’ve never had children of my own, so it would be stupid and
senseless to say that I know what you have gone through and are going through.
But I would
like to say that you, too, have been an inspiration to me. It came through in
Rachel’s e-mails home how much you both supported and loved her. In your last
e-mail to her, you wrote : “I’d much rather be proud of somebody else’
daughter.” That struck a GONG in me. In my case she WAS somebody else’
daughter, and I AM proud of her. I
wrote just now that she “was” (past tense) your daughter, while I head this
page “She Lives” (present tense). Is there a contradiction here? Yes and no.
She is still your daughter, as I’m sure you very much feel. But when she went
off to Gaza, you lent your daughter to the world for a little while, and we
never gave her back. She belongs to all of us now. What a mean and shabby trick
to play on you for all your support and Love! If there is any way I can “pay
off” some of my portion of the debt, I hope you will let me know.
In this world of constant headlines, disasters, distractions, I
don’t want to make any promises that I might not keep. But Rachel lit a candle
in my heart and I certainly HOPE
that it never goes out…
In Peace, in Love, in (an attempt at)
Understanding,
Jimmy
A Song Cycle For Various And Very Varied Voices
The quotes in fuchsia before each poem are from
Rachel’s e-mails to family and friends. I hope they whet your appetite to read
the e-mails in full.
Another
Song For Rachel
"Atah MeTachat Degle Shahor" (You are
carrying out immoral orders) – This is from an e-mail to Rachel from Danny, a
dissident Israeli soldier, giving Rachel a suggestion for what to say to
soldiers
“International kids standing in front of tanks
with banners. Israeli kids in the tanks anonymously - occasionally shouting and
also occasionally waving - many forced to be here, many just aggressive”
“So I think when all means of survival is cut
off in a pen (Gaza) which people can't get out of, I think that qualifies as
genocide.”
You give us your
finest, your sweetest,
Your bravest,
…your best.
We taunt and we
sneer, shout obscenities, jeer
We’d crush them all
to death!
We’re scared old
men and scared young men,
Yes, some are
women too.
We’re scared of
Life, we’re scared of Peace:
We wouldn’t have
a clue.
We’re Jews or
Christians, French or Turks,
We’re from the
USA.
We deal in arms
and false alarms,
But we specialise in Hate.
Hey, don’t you
know they stomped on us
In History
somewhere?
Now it’s our
turn to stomp and burn.
Come on – that’s only fair!
Oh Rachel, oh
gentle Rachel,
We never knew
you well.
But we know your
kind, and we know you’re kind…
So may you burn in Hell!
Why did you try
to understand?!
Why side with
the oppressed?!
If you had only
stayed at home,
You’d not be in
this mess.
Take warning,
others out there,
From what
happened to this girl
For trying to
“redress a wrong”;
Trying to change the World.
So close your
eyes, stop up your ears,
Turn off your
conscience too.
At least (we
pray) look the other way,
’Cause we have work
to do.
- Jimmy Hollis i Dickson
Rachel’s Song
“My love to Olympia”
“I am staying put in Rafah for now”
This is not at all what I asked for
When I came into this world.
All this “Us and
Them” , all this “Here and There”
All these flags
and banners unfurled.
I think it [really] is a good
Idea for us all to drop
Everything and devote our lives
To making this [evil] stop.
I [ ] really want to dance [ ] to Pat Benatar,
But this was
going on:
My taxes paying
for cruelty.
It's wrong! It's
wrong! It's WRONG!
Strange women wandering into the path of tanks,
Strange men
being tender with kids.
Strange freaks
of nature: opposed to War,
Doing something
for Justice and Peace.
To some degree, we are all kids,
Curious about [each] other [ ].
Walk away from
that machine of death
And I will call
you Brother.
I hear you made
a “regrettable mistake”.
That’s why I’m
lying here.
(“Regrettable” not “regretted” - note that:
It’s optional,
the tear.)
And it’s my fault for being where
I have no call to be.
You’re wrong: I heard it calling me
From right
across the sea.
I had a dream:
that Olympia
And Rafah would
be Sisters,
Be linked by
ties as strong as blood,
A bond of
War-Resisters.
My dream’s come
true, though at some cost.
Blood’s paid for
my belief.
Rafah and
Olympia
Are Sisters now
in Grief.
I have a new
dream, I beg of you:
Each woman, man,
girl, boy.
Don’t let my
death be a shoddy thing:
Be Sisters now
in Joy.
It’s going to
take a bit more work,
But I think you
owe me that much:
Continue the
struggle, but please, oh please!
Don’t forget the
Human Touch.
- Rachel Corrie / Jimmy Hollis i Dickson
To comment on this video, rate it, add it to your YouTube favourites, or embed it for inclusion on your own web-site, double-click on the screen. Or click once on the screen while the video is running or once it has finished.
Sarah’s Song
“I don't like to use those
charged words. I think you know this about me. I really value words.”
"Hate."
I will not use that word
Not even as a
motive of
Those who freely
use it themselves
In speaking of
someone I love.
So please use
"Fear" or "Anger",
"Paranoia",
"Malintent".
Those can be
changed. But "Hate" (to me):
It seems so
permanent.
And I don’t want
to give up Hope
These people can
be healed:
Harsh clichés be
dissolved away
’Til they can
really feel.
They never knew
my sister
Or they would
surely know
There was no
hate in her huge heart,
Nor in her
little toe.
***
My sister did
not die in vain:
Her Peace Song
will be sung.
That is no small
achievement
For one who died
so young.
Some day I’ll
grey and granniefy,
My face will
wear and weather,
But Rachel will
live in my heart
And keep it
young forever.
-Sarah Corrie Simpson/ Jimmy Hollis i Dickson
Voice
Of A Palestinian Child
[This poem is complete whimsy on my part.
Any Palestinian old enough to be doing English homework would be perfectly
aware of who Uncle Sam is. As Rachel pointed out in one of her e-mails home: “there are eight-year-olds here much more aware of the
workings of the global power structure than I was just a few years ago.” And
I’m absolutely convinced that – even a few days after Rachel’s death – there
was not a child in all of Rafah who didn’t know what had happened. Perhaps this
is a case of the Palestinian Child being (gently?) sarcastic with us
westerners.] I should also state that I have no evidence that Rachel spoke of America or Uncle Sam in
this way to the Palestinians: these are my
thoughts.
Where is my sister Rachel,
Who used to come to us and stay?
Where is my blonde big sister,
Who came from, oh, so far away?
Won’t somebody please tell
me:
Will she be coming back someday?
She helped me with my homework.
Somehow she made it seem like fun
To learn another language
So different from my mother tongue.
- Though there were words she didn’t like
To use: like ‘war’, and ‘hate’, and ‘gun’.
She said I should feel lucky
To be exactly where I am.
She said I wouldn’t like it much
In her exotic, distant land,
Where rules her wicked relative
(I think she called him ‘Uncle Sam’.)
“The richest man on earth,” she said,
“He’s rich because he steals and cheats
In countries where ‘Democracy’
Is just a lie that he repeats;
While relatives of his at home
Sleep in cardboard boxes on the streets.”
One Friday, in the morning,
We watched T.V., sat on the floor:
The Gummy Bears in Arabic.
The idea just made Rachel roar.
I’ve watched them like that all my life:
Don’t know what she was laughing for.
She used to play football with us,
She didn’t play it very well.
But everyone wanted her on their side:
We loved the way she’d run and yell;
And laugh and shrug her shoulders,
Pull funny faces when she fell.
Where is my sister Rachel?
And did she really
have to go?!
She went away without a word
- Not like the Rachel that I know -
If you should see her anywhere,
Please tell her that I miss her so!
- Jimmy Hollis i Dickson
Voice of George
W.
“The children also love to get me to practice
my limited Arabic by asking me, "Kaif Sharon?" "Kaif Bush?"
and they laugh when I say, "Bush Majnoon", "Sharon Majnoon"
back in my limited arabic. (How is Sharon? How is Bush? Bush is crazy. Sharon
is crazy.) Of course this isn't quite what I believe, and some of the adults
who have the English correct me: "Bush mish Majnoon" ... Bush is a
businessman. Today I tried to learn to say, "Bush is a tool", but I
don't think it translated quite right.”
“Also, the woman who keeps the key for the
well where we still sleep keeps asking me about you. She doesn't speak a bit of
English, but she asks about my mom pretty frequently - wants to make sure I'm
calling you.”
“I walked some way
to B'razil, which is where Nidal and Mansur and Grandmother and Rafat and all
the rest of the big family that has really wholeheartedly adopted me live. (The
other day, by the way, Grandmother gave me a pantomimed lecture in Arabic that
involved a lot of blowing and pointing to her black shawl. I got Nidal to tell
her that my mother would appreciate knowing that someone here was giving me a
lecture about smoking turning my lungs black.)”
This blond and
blue-eyed young man
Came to me to
ask for a few words
That he might
turn into a poem:
‘A Song For
Rachel’ or somesuch.
“ ‘A Song For
Rachel’ ?” I snorted.
[I snort
magnificently]
“Don’t you know
that Rachel IS a song?!
We sing her in
our lungs and throats,
We sing her in
our hearts and veins,
We sing her in
our bones.
“I will talk to
you, Young Man,” I said,
Because you seem
to me sincere.
But I will not
have you chop and twist my words
To fit some
rhyme or rhythm.
You may put down
my words
Just as I speak
them
- Or not at
all.”
“Just as you
wish,” he answered
“But why do you
call me Young Man?
Can’t you see
that my beard and half my hair are grey?
I’ll soon be
reaching the half century.
Are you trying
to flatter me?!”
“HA! ‘Young’ is
no flattery for me,” I said.
“I’ll tell you
what: when you have buried 3 grandchildren - as I have -
I’ll stop
calling you young.”
The first, funny
Ibrahim: always laughing,
At 3 years old
we lost to bad water.
The occupiers
had destroyed the one good well we had.
The second,
smart, earnest Ali - only 8 years old -
Was throwing
stones - as young boys here will do -
At Israeli
tanks.
They opened fire. They were “provoked”.
Allah forgive
them! To be provoked by babies!
The third - my
lovely Ishtar -
Was studying to
be a doctor.
She was among
the top three in her class
[You will
forgive an old woman's pride]
Yes: she was
studying to be a doctor.
Not so she could
make big money in America.
I do not, I will
not, believe that of her.
She wanted to
serve her people.
And, wanting to
serve her people,
She was hurrying
to a sick neighbour's home
When she was
shot in the back.
“A stray bullet”
they said. HA!
I know the
meaning of that word ‘stray’.
It means to have
no owner.
That bullet has
had three owners:
It was paid for
by American taxpayers;
It belonged for
a while to the army of occupation;
Now it belongs
to my Ishtar.
Her brother
Mohammed, a headstrong boy,
- We were
sitting at supper a few nights after Rachel died –
Said “Why all
this fuss for a foreigner’s death?
Do THEY make a
fuss when WE die?
Two thousand of
us have been killed:
It doesn’t
matter at all.
One blonde
foreigner dies,
And there’s an
international outcry.
They call her a
martyr! A true martyr
Straps a belt of
explosives to his body,
Commends himself
to Allah,
And goes willingly
to glorious death.
Her death was a stupid mistake:
She did not mean
to die.
AND she was an
infidel…”
I stood and
picked up my bowl.
I said “I’m
going to eat in my room:
I will not share
the table with someone
Who talks of
that brave girl
- Of any
of them –
With anything
less than respect.
She did not HAVE
to come here:
She could have
stayed in America,
In comfort,
safety, and luxury.
She came to
sleep on our floors:
In that very
corner she has spent the night.
She thought her
white skin, her blonde hair,
Her American
passport would make her safe.
She was wrong.
But she came
To make us
safer.
Pah! I have said
enough:
I go to my
room.”
It took him all
of two minutes
To come and
knock at my door:
“Jaddati, forgive me! You are right.
I was being
stupid. Please come back”
I saw the tears
in his eyes
And forgave him
at once. [If you want to know the truth:
I think he was
sweet on that sweet girl
And had been
trying to hide it.
Ah, foolish
Youth!]
“No more talk of belts of explosives!
We have had
enough deaths in this family:
To live
for Peace and Justice
Is just as brave
as to die for them.”
He went out that
very night
After curfew –
risking a bullet of his own.
He went and
painted on a wall
Near the
apartment the ISM use:
“Rachel Corrie:
an American woman
With Palestinian blood in her veins.”
My grandchildren
all have a way
Of making me
proud.
And I am proud
of Rachel:
Her funny
attempts to pronounce Arabic,
Her affection
for the children and us old women
- For all
of us.
Her biting sense
of humour.
Her burning
sense of justice.
She could have
been my granddaughter
In age.
She could have
been my daughter
In mutual
affection.
She is my sister
In solidarity.
She is my
friend.
I have seen and
read the news:
They try to
present us as terrorists.
Half literate,
fanatic.
Vermin that need
to be cleared away
To make THEIR
settlements safe.
There are
fanatics among us – I will not deny it.
But please don’t
believe
We are all like
that.
Just as Rachel
and her wonderful friends
Of the ISM have
shown us
- If ever we
needed to learn –
That not all
Americans vote for Bush
Or are
uncultured fundamentalists;
Not all British
young people
Care only about
raves and Ecstasy;
Not all Swedes
are cold.
And – because of
Rachel –
We have been
receiving messages
That not all
Jews are Zionists;
Not all Israelis
are pro-occupation.
Some have
written to say
That they will
go to jail
Rather than
serve as occupying forces.
May Allah bless
them – and her – for that.
- JHiD
Voice Of An Imagined ISM
Co-Volunteer
“The international media and our government are not
going to tell us that we are effective, important, justified in our work,
courageous, intelligent, valuable. We have to do that for each other, and one
way we can do that is by continuing our work, visibly.”
I think about
you every day
And have to cry
a while.
But Rachel,
here’s the best bit:
I think of you
and smile.
You are a fresh
oasis
Beneath the
desert sun,
Make hot, hard
work enjoyable,
Turn protest
into fun.
We protect the
people’s safety.
I, too, have
done my part.
They let me in
their homes, of course,
They let you in
their hearts.
They care for
every one of us,
Yeah sure: I
know that’s true.
You held a
special charm for them:
The children
asked for you.
You know I had a
crush on you?
[I flinch now at
that word.]
I was a plodding
tortoise,
You were a
soaring bird.
For all my
secret crush on you,
I only held you
just
The one time:
when Another
Had crushed you
in the dust.
You took a part
of each of us:
Left us the best
of you.
We’ll dream your
dream forever:
No less will
ever do.
And as I knelt
and held you,
I tried to catch
your eye.
“Rachel, can you
hear me?
You’ll never nevernevernevernever never die!”
- Jimmy Hollis i Dickson
Jimmy’s Song
“It really hurts me, again, like it has hurt
me in the past, to witness how awful we can allow the world to be.”
“I am disappointed that this is the base
reality of our world and that we, in fact, participate in it.”
“I am in the midst of a genocide which I am
also indirectly supporting, and for which my government is largely
responsible.”
“I look forward to more moments like February
15 when civil society wakes up en masse and issues massive and resonant
evidence of its conscience, its unwillingness to be repressed, and its
compassion for the suffering of others.”
“When
I come back from Palestine, I probably will have nightmares and constantly feel
guilty for not being here, but I can channel that into more work. Coming here is
one of the better things I've ever done.”
It’s so easy to
be pessimistic:
The news that
comes in isn’t good.
It feels like
we’re knocking our heads on brick walls
When we’d rather
be knocking on wood.
[Hoping that
people can learn from mistakes
And that things
will turn out as they should.]
I remember in
February, 2003
When we decided
to stand on our feet,
Fed up with just
watching those thugs on TV
Trying to lie to
us, hoodwink us, cheat.
And all ’round
the world in our millions
We rose up and
went out on the street.
“No Blood For Oil”; “War’s Not The Way”;
“That Son-Of-A-Bush Ought To GO!!!”;
“Not With My Taxes And Not In My Name”;
“It Ain’t Necessarily So”;
“Drop Bush: Not Bombs”; “Make Tea: Not War”;
Oh, we put on a
wonderful show!
And the feel of
Togetherness, marching along!
We were finally
going to be heard.
They couldn’t
fool US with their WMD.
Their attempts
to do so were absurd.
Let the weapons
inspectors get on with their job,
And we’ll be
awaiting their word.
The next day,
what a buzz to look in on the Net!
Read reports
from all over the Earth.
But ALL OVER!
You know what THAT felt like?!
Like we were
witnessing some kind of Birth!
…Then those gangsters went ahead and held their invasion:
Showed us just
what our wishes are worth.
So my high hopes
collapsed like a tower of cards
- They'd been
built with the same kind of care.
And I wanted to
start hibernating
Just like some
tired old bear.
Even though it
was coming on springtime,
I crawled off
and curled up in my lair.
I fell into the
trap of believing
All our efforts
are just doomed to fail.
Our attempts to
change the way things are
Are like hitting
the hammer with the nail.
In spite of the
best of intentions,
It’s violence
that will always prevail.
Then I read
about you, Rachel Corrie
And you made me
ashamed of despair.
Don’t tell me
that there are no solutions:
I’ll keep
looking for them everywhere.
Because even in
darkest America,
There are young
people who still really care.
So I haven't the
right to give up now,
To act like all
hope has been spent.
Not with your
example reminding
That it never
is time to relent.
After you put
your life and ideals on the line:
No less than one
hundred percent.
Sometimes I wish
that I'd met you
Known you better
than just from afar.
And sometimes
I'm SO glad I hadn't, 'cause then
Your death might
have torn me apart.
As it is, it's
produced this small miracle:
The re-opening
up of my heart.
I’m jealous
sometimes of your parents
For having a
daughter like you;
But as my
daughter, you wouldn't have turned out just the same,
And, Rachel,
that just wouldn't do!
You’re unique
and I’m proud of your Starshine
Even seen with
my far-away view.
I've read that
sometimes you felt guilty
For being a part
of The Ill;
But the bad
things your government did “in your name”
They most
definitely did 'gainst your will.
And long after
that whole gang lies rotting away
Your Star will
be sparkling still...
- Jimmy Hollis i Dickson
Cindy’s Song
“Love you. Really miss you. I have bad
nightmares about tanks and bulldozers outside our house and you and me inside.”
“I think about this especially when I see
orchards and greenhouses and fruit trees destroyed - just years of care and
cultivation. I think about you and how long it takes to make things grow and
what a labour of love it is.”
“Honestly, a lot of the time the sheer
kindness of the people here, coupled with the overwhelming evidence of the
wilful destruction of their lives, makes it seem unreal to me.”
To the driver of
that bulldozer
I direct most of
this song.
[It shouldn’t
take much of your time:
It really isn’t
all that long.]
Are you still
convinced that you were so right,
And that Rachel
was so wrong?
I wish you could
have stepped down,
And looked into
my daughter’s eyes.
If you had done
that one small thing,
You’d have got a
big surprise:
There was no
hate for you there,
Despite all your leaders’
lies.
I wish that you
had climbed down,
And shaken her
by the hand.
Her wish was to
help heal the open wound
That’s festering
in your land.
It’s when we
look though each other’s eyes
We begin to
understand.
Oh, why didn’t
you get down, Son:
Get down off
your high horse? Oh why
Couldn’t you
have given Peace a chance,
Have given it
just a try?!
I hope our
message reaches you.
I hope you learn
to cry.
That isn’t meant
as vengeance:
The best that
you could do
Is learn to cry
for what you’ve done,
And for what
they’ve done to you.
Those aren’t friends who taught you not to care:
One day you’ll
know that’s true.
To those who
held my Rachel
As she was lying
there:
I want to send
my heartfelt thanks;
To say how much
I care
She was
surrounded by your love,
And not by
strangers’ stares.
To all the
mothers around the world
Who’ve seen your
children die:
I want to hold
you in my arms,
For you to hold me as we cry.
Politicians may
explain as much as they want,
They will NEVER convince us of why.
- Cindy
Corrie / Jimmy Hollis i Dickson
9-10/10/2005
The
Caterpillar® Song
Happy Birthday, Rachel!
I've been meaning to write this poem for over a
year now. I had the idea to use the don't-blame-me excuse "I was only
carrying out orders" and turn it into its business connotations.
Caterpillar Inc. made the bulldozer that killed Rachel. They supplied the
Israeli Army with these machines, knowing full well that they were being used
to destroy people's homes. NOT people's ex-homes. The homes they were living in
up to about 5 minutes before these homes were razed. Their ONLY homes. Whether
Caterpillar Inc. supplies the Israeli Army directly or through agents is a
spurious argument. I don't agree that they are "responsible" for the
death of Rachel. But they are co-responsible for a lot of grief and hardship in
Palestine. They KNOW what they're doing. It's because of this that I ask you to
join the Caterpillar
boycott, backed by more than 20 campaign groups and charities... ANYWAY, as
I was saying, I'd been thinking of writing this "song" for a long
time. Then, a few days ago (16th April, 2007), after waking, but before getting
up, the whole thing started rushing out. Turns out I was 6 days late for
Rachel's birthday, but that's the reason for the sub-title.
“... tanks and bulldozers destroyed 25
greenhouses - the livelihoods for 300 people.”
“The count of homes destroyed in Rafah since
the beginning of this intifada is up around 600, by and large people with no
connection to the resistance but who happen to live along the border. ”
“And then the bulldozers come and take out
people's vegetable farms and gardens. What is left for people? Tell me if you
can think of anything. I can't.”
“So I think when all means of survival is cut
off in a pen (Gaza) which people can't get out of, I think that qualifies as
genocide.”
We're just
taking orders,
Just carrying
out orders,
Just shipping
out orders
To anyone who
can pay.
I’m proud of our
production line:
They'll build to
your special design.
On the dotted:
that's where you sign,
And won't you
have a nice day!
I read the Financial
Reports,
Sometimes I make
it to the Sports.
No time for news
of other sorts.
Rachel Corrie?
Who she?
Making money
surely ain't a crime?
The Israelis
they pay on time:
Right down to
the very last dime.
That's good
enough for me.
Those A-rabs got
no call to moan and shout:
They get plenty
warning to get out.
If they stay
put, there surely ain't no doubt:
They're an
UNRULY mob!
I'm just making
money
So don't you
start to get funny!
Why don't you
just run along, Honey,
And let me do my
job?
I'm an executive
of some repute.
I hope that
there is no dispute.
My job is to
execute.
What's that? What did I just say??
We're just taking orders,
Just carrying out orders,
Just shipping out orders
To anyone who can pay.
- Jimmy Hollis i Dickson
The Butterfly
Song
(Voice Of Another Caterpillar®
Victim)
On the morning of the 19th Oct., 2007, I got an e-mail telling
me about a Day Of Action to protest Caterpillar®'s involvement in the
destruction of Palestinian homes. I knew that over 2000 Palestinians had been
killed by occupation forces in the last several years, but this was the first
time that I learned that 17 of them had been killed – like Rachel Corrie – by
Caterpillar® machines. You can find more information at: http://www.endtheoccupation.org/article.php?id=1450
I wrote to the organisers, offering
the use of my poem “The Caterpillar® Song” on the Day, and explaining that – as
I was in Europe – I wouldn't be able to attend personally. I wrote that I would
be there in spirit, and asked them to feel my presence.
As it turned out, I opened another
e-mail which drove all thoughts of the Day Of Action from my head for the rest
of the day. But perhaps some small part of me WAS there, unknown to my
conscious mind, because the next day I woke up and wrote another poem before
getting out of bed.
Here it is.
Love and Peace to all of us!
I
never wished to live forever,
But I did not wish to
die.
I tried to live the
best I could
And watched each day
slip by.
I watched them try to
divide us,
I watched them build
The Wall,
And noticed that each
house too close
To it was doomed to
fall.
They “justified”
destruction
By claiming there were
arms
Hidden in each one of
those homes,
Just waiting to do
harm.
Yes, there were arms in
my home:
And legs, and hearts,
and heads.
My arms would hug my
children,
And carry them to bed.
My legs carried me out
running
To face the
Caterpillar®.
For where would my
children sleep now,
If I gave in to this
killer?
I am not blond like
Rachel,
And I am not
well-known.
Nobody ever wrote a
play
In which my
life was shown.
But Rachel is my
sister,
My sister now in blood:
Both hers and mine have
mixed with dust,
And turned it into mud.
The both of us have
broken backs,
The both of us have
gone,
But somehow hope with
both our hearts
Our message will live
on.
That message isn't
Vengeance:
It's “Let Justice be
done!
And ALL of you we've
left behind:
PLEASE try to live as
one!”
You will not know until
it's gone
How precious
is your Life.
Now while it's yours
you waste it
In bitterness and
strife!
Rachel and I have
spread our wings
- No hindrance broken
backs!
We both were turned to
butterflies
'Neath Caterpillar®
tracks.
We're not alone, Rachel
and I,
That Caterpillar® has
set free:
We're eighteen at the
last count
– That's quite a
family!
And we've made friends
with Joel and Dan,
Once of “God's Chosen
Race”:
'We died for “Israel”,'
they say,
'Oh, what a stupid
WASTE!'
Rachel has lost her
passport
- Ridiculous hypocrisy
-
That promised to
protect her
When she was overseas.
And I'm not
Palestinian,
There are no Israelis,
No nationalities after Death,
No fanatic ideologies.
So now I want to talk
to YOU:
To speak as one-to-one,
Leaving aside our
differences.
(That's how to get
things done.)
Please do us both
a favour:
Please get down on your
knees,
And hug your children
with ALL your heart,
Then hug them once for
me.
For they're children of
ALL of us,
And I've left mine with
you.
Try to make the World
better for them:
Must be SOMETHING
you can do!
And if you see a
butterfly
(With your children –
or alone)
Don't treat it as a
lesser thing,
For it – at
least – has flown.
And what have you
done lately
To spread your wings
and fly?
Come on! The World is
waiting:
You only have to try...
- Jimmy Hollis i Dickson
Voice Of A Gaza Citizen
(almost 6 years later) [for Iman]
It is now 2009. In 3 short weeks this past
December and January over 1,300 Palestinian deaths have been added to the toll.
The Israeli Government assures us that they are trying to spare innocent lives,
that their “only” targets are the leaders of Hamas. It’s a DEAD shame
that others get in the way… I know too little about Palestinian internal
politics to take sides. But there are some things that I believe about
Democracy and this poem is my reply. It was written in reply to an appeal for
works of art for an auction organized by Valentines
For Palestine. I contributed the poem and would like to thank them for
permission to continue using it here and elsewhere. I have dedicated it to
Iman, the 13-year-old mentioned in the 4th verse.
“ I thought a lot about what you said on the
phone about Palestinian violence not helping the situation. Sixty thousand
workers from Rafah worked in Israel two years ago. Now only 600 can go to
Israel for jobs. Of these 600, many have moved, because the three checkpoints between
here and Ashkelon (the closest city in Israel) make what used to be a 40-minute
drive, now a 12-hour or impassible journey. In addition, what Rafah identified
in 1999 as sources of economic growth are all completely destroyed - the Gaza
international airport (runways demolished, totally closed); the border for
trade with Egypt (now with a giant Israeli sniper tower in the middle of the
crossing); access to the ocean (completely cut off in the last two years by a
checkpoint and the Gush Katif settlement). The count of homes destroyed in
Rafah since the beginning of this intifada is up around 600, by and large
people with no connection to the resistance but who happen to live along the
border. I think it is maybe official now that Rafah is the poorest place in the
world. There used to be a middle class here - recently. We also get reports
that in the past, Gazan flower shipments to Europe were delayed for two weeks
at the Erez crossing for security inspections. You can imagine the value of
two-week-old cut flowers in the European market, so that market dried up. And
then the bulldozers come and take out people's vegetable farms and gardens.
What is left for people? Tell me if you can think of anything. I can't.”
Listen to me, for
there are things I have seen:
My People have been beaten and bullied and
starved;
Our wells have been poisoned and our
windows shot at;
Young children and old people have been cut
down by stray bullets.
And the World has turned a blind eye.
We have wept and wailed over our dead;
We have called out for Justice and Peace.
And the World has turned a deaf ear.
Listen to me, for there are things I must
say:
We have voted for one faction and it has
done little good.
We have voted for another faction and it
has done little good.
We have appealed to the Goodness and the
Decency of the World at large.
And it has done little good.
Some few have turned to Violence and it has
done little good.
When our leaders were moderates, you
wouldn't listen to them.
When our leaders were hard-liners, you
refused to talk to them.
Are you surprised that some have turned to
Violence?
Listen to me, for there are things that are
true:
This is a Democracy.
In free and fair elections, the People have
chosen Hamas.
But the “democratic” leaders of the World
have called Hamas
A Terrorist Organisation...
And so refused to deal with them.
Did I personally vote for Hamas?
You must respect my democratic right to
keep my vote a secret.
But this I WILL say, and say it loud and
clear:
My People have democratically chosen Hamas
– this time – to represent them.
And when you refuse to deal with our chosen
representatives,
It is a slap in the face to ALL of us.
And in the face of Democracy itself.
Listen to me, for there are things that are
clear:
To the “democratic” politicians of the Free
World,
You Newspeak Masters of Hypocrisy!
You are NOT democratic when YOU decide who
OUR representatives must be.
So, you do not deal with Terrorist
Organisations?
And yet you not only talk with but also
sell arms to the Israeli Army:
Who arbitrarily keep people waiting for
hours in the hot sun at checkpoints
- Students who won't get to school that
day, the ill who won't see the doctor -
Whose bulldozers destroy our orchards, our
greenhouses, our homes.
We who live in Gaza know who the REAL
terrorists are.
Believe me – I'm terrified.
Listen to me, for I will be heard:
To the Forces of Occupation and successive
Israeli Governments I say:
You should be ASHAMED of yourselves!
You spit on the memory of one of your
greatest heroes.
Did not young David – armed only with a few
small stones -
Stride out to face invincible Goliath?
To anyone who is not blind with Preference
or Prejudice
(Whichever word you wish: they are two
sides of the same coin)
In this modern World, it is manifestly
clear,
In this land that we both love: who is
David, who is Goliath.
Listen to me, for I will not be silenced:
To the People of Israel I say:
You should be ASHAMED of yourselves!
You spit on the memory of your own martyrs.
It has been said that the greatest success
of the Nazis
Was not to convince a few true believers to
carry out atrocities,
But to condition the vast majority to
Silence, to Allowing It To Happen.
Gaza is a modern Ghetto.
What more must be done before you
wake up and realise
That you've become the mirror image of your
grandparents' persecutors?
Listen to me, for you must also speak out:
To the People of the United States of
America I say:
You should be ASHAMED of yourselves!
You spit on the memory of your founding
idealists.
You call yourself the Land of the Free and
the Home of the Brave.
And yet you allow a small but powerful
lobby
To blackmail your Government into helping
the Bully stomp on the Underdog:
The Underdog who has cried out to YOU for
help.
You have allowed that Bully to murder one
of your own
- Rachel Corrie (who DID reach out a hand
to the Underdog) -
And you have not called out for Justice!
Free???
Brave???
Go hang your heads in SHAME!
- Jimmy Hollis i Dickson
9-10/10/2005
Money Talks / Blood Sings
(The Evergreen Song)
On June 2, 2010, students at The Evergreen State
College in Olympia, WA, Rachel's alma mater, made history by passing two
resolutions: a) for The Evergreen State College Foundation to divest from
companies that profit from Israel's illegal occupation of Palestine, as part of
instituting a socially responsible investment policy. 79.5% of those taking
part voted for this resolution! And b) calling on the College to ban the use of
Caterpillar, Inc. equipment from campus. Here the vote was 71.8%! These votes
marked the largest student voter turnout since the creation of Evergreen’s
student union.
While other US colleges have passed similar divestment resolutions, these are
the first of such resolutions passed by direct vote by an entire student body.
In their call to others [us] to show support for
their initiative,they mentioned the
importance of economic pressure to influence official politics [such as the
boycott of South African products that helped to put an end to Apartheid] using
the words:
“Money talks”.
This poem is dedicated to them.
“The international media and our government
are not going to tell us that we are effective, important, justified in our
work, courageous, intelligent, valuable. We have to do that for each other, and
one way we can do that is by continuing our work, visibly.”
This is another poem that I have been
meaning to write for some time. All the poems I’ve so far written “from the
point of view of someone opposed to what Rachel was doing” – the first in the
series, the ones “by” Bush and the Caterpillar® executive – weren’t REALLY from their point of view: they were from
MY imagining of their motives. They would never have said (out loud and
in public) what I put in their mouths.
In this following poem, however, I have
tried to be strictly honest and write what certain Jewish settlers might be
proud to say out loud. In doing so, I have drawn upon the sort of comments that
2 of my videos on YouTube [
“Rachel's Song” and
"This Train Revised"] have attracted, as
well as the postings I often read on blogs on various web-sites.
Jehovah promised us this land.
When we were prisoners in Egypt,
He promised us this land.
When we were too timid
to seize it,
When we thought the
Caananites were too strong to overcome,
--quote from Emma Lazarus, Inscribed on
Statue of Liberty
I copied out this poem for the sake of those non-USA
readers who won’t have come across it before and wouldn’t understand George
W.’s quoting from it. But it occurs to me now that USA citizens would also do
well to read it over again. Its message seems to have been forgotten…
If you would like to comment on Rachel's life and work, I
suggest that you contact her web-site (click on the banner below)
If you would like to comment on THIS particular tribute to
her, I would be thrilled to hear from you. It's always nice to know you're
reaching SOMEONE. I'll be opening up a separate page
of comments - both negative and positive (because EVERYBODY has the right
to be heard). Send your comments to rACHELcORRIE@jimmsfairytales.com (IMPORTANT!!! I have been having trouble with the address I used before: it got overloaded with spam, a lot of which was generated by automatic, address-seeking web-crawlers. Please remove all CAPITAL LETTERS from the e-mail address that I've just given before using what's left.)
I would appreciate it if you would give the address of this tribute page to
your friends and acquaintances: Spread the word!
And to citizens of the U.S.A.: You could write to your Congressperson, explaining
that you KNOW that they are very busy people, but could they PLEASE take just 5
minutes to read the 2nd paragraph on this page?
