Thief in the Night

Yesterday's blog probably left you in suspense and with a certain level of anxiety in light of the edgy experience that I alluded to in the last paragraph - my inaugural witness of an Israeli military incursion into the Dheisheh camp. My intention was not to leave you in the dark for long, so this will be the primary topic of today's entry.

Late in the night on Thursday I was engaged in my typical routine of returning emails, perusing websites for the latest news, and watching a bit of TV four stories up in the Ibdaa restaurant. What happened next was undoubtedly one of the most unique encounters I have ever experienced. The only light in the large space of scattered tables and chairs emanated from my computer and the small television set in front of me, while outside in the streets below the descending quietude made the half-lit atmosphere, save for a few barking dogs and rogue taxis, especially eery. Around 2:30 a.m. my ear caught what first sounded like a horse's cantor clacking on the hard cement and I ran to the western row of windows to look down over the camp to get a better view.

Directly below, in a tight alley framed by 6' cement walls, and lit only by the faint visual echo of a distant streetlight, I could see four lumbering bodies running in my direction. The olive drab helmets, robust packs, and lithe black M-16's immediately revealed the identities of this nocturnal quartet. The crew of four ran to the base of the Ibdaa building, stopping at every corner to cover for any threats that might have been looming in the dark. As they navigated their way around the building I ran to the other row of windows and was literally right on top of them, watching their every move. They were very young, each couldn't have been more than 20, and trying to secure the area below me by shuffling along the high walls, stopping to kneel and point their rifles to cover each others positions, and making short, low-volume commands in Hebrew that I couldn't make out. One wouldn't have to be a proficient linguist to understand how they were instructing one another.

It felt like I was another member on their mission given my proximity, and obviously at a much better vantage point than they were. I could hear their rapid, sometimes shaky breathing, could almost sense their adrenaline levels rise, and I could tell that they were scared. I was scared too, though with the rush of fear I also felt a jolt of excitement rising up my spine, the surging bioelectric current making my palms tingle. However, I was aware that I was safe for the most part, for the local military is well aware of Ibdaa's typical international contingent. Yet I wasn't about to make any brazen, daring act to get closer to the action. It was no time for impulsiveness, this was a full-force military incursion and they were in the camp for a reason.

I was alone in the restaurant and felt it would be wise to have a seasoned witness to share the experience with, so I called Ziad to come take a look. In the meantime, I glanced again towards the street of the soldiers origin and there in a well-lit square 100 yards away was an armored transport vehicle half hidden behind a tall cement wall, diesel engine idleing loud enough to hear from a distance. My friend arrived in the restaurant and for the next two hours we sat in the dark, whispering to each other behind drawn curtains and doing our best to remain in the shadows while still holding a clear line of sight on the action below.

Scattered beams of light from the soldiers gun-mounted flashlights shone on the cement walls and in the gardens around the area as they got closer to reaching their destination, the home of the Al Fandi family, about 40 yards directly west of the Ibdaa building. Several heavy fist blows on the metal front door of the home resonated throughout the camp, and moments later the entire family was shuffled out of the house. Peering from behind a slit that I fashioned from two curtains I kept an eye on the front stoop, hearing the pop and crunch of a porch lamp, and I soon saw several soldiers moving throughout the house. They were looking for something. As the time transpired I could hear glass, kitchenware, and other assorted fragile material crash and shatter on the hard floor. Meanwhile, the small group of armed men on lookout, stationed in the shadows below, kept an open eye for potential opposition.

It was kind of amusing actually, because initially these soldiers on the ground seemed exceptionally alert, kneeling in proactive poses with guns ready and gazes scanning the area around them. Soon, however, their legs seemed to tire because they began to change positions frequently, leaning on the wall occasionally, with one actually sitting down on his rear end next to his friend when he couldn't seem to bear the weight he was carrying. I can't imagine how difficult it must be, and how much patience it takes, to be a soldier in such a prolonged operation.

The soldiers have recognized that it is hardly an easy operation either. In '02 and '03, when incursions into the camp were much more frequent, they would be shot at occasionally, though no soldier has ever been killed here. Today, it's the teenagers who pose the greatest threat, lobbing stones on the soldiers from above or by quickly emerging from and then dissapearing into the dark alleyways after they are able to express their angst through momentary acts of frustrated aggression. Based on what I have observed, though it may come as a shock to you, I can hardly blame them for it.

The Israeli response to this 'misbehavior' is to lob non-lethal stun grenades, also known as "flash and bang" devices, in order to give them a little larger window for escape. Two such grenades were detonated Thursday night, their blinding flash and deeply concussive blast shaking me up a bit, and I was at least 150 yards away. It was obvious then that the soldiers were on their way out, and was confirmed as I saw a larger group of soldiers scramble towards Ibdaa and the main street. Two vehicles began to creep down the alley and I was ultimately able to count 8 trucks in total; two armored carriers and six military jeeps, one white, signifying the intelligence officer. Later sources confirmed that 30 soldiers made their way into the camp that night, and after 3 cars were vandalized, one stolen car retrieved (belonging to a Shinbet - or Israeli FBI - officer), two homes ransacked, and a community was kept awake for three hours in the middle of the night, their mission was complete.

Frankly, I have been anticipating such an experience ever since I arrived, and perhaps before, to the chagrin of those who care for me perhaps. In some way this may result from my boyish affinity for covert operations or my tendency to be overconfident in times of stress, though I would like to think that the most fundamental reason emerges from my knowing that such an experience will bring me much closer to understanding what life is like under the Israeli occupation. I would be naive to assume that the soldiers were present in the camp that night for the sake of harassment alone, they had a job to do, though in combination with how I am observing this occupation play out elsewhere on a daily basis it would also be naive to assume that great intentions lie beneath the unfortunate reality that has existed for the last 40 years, which is at best obdurate and at worst tragically brutal.

I don't wish to leave you on a solemn note, so allow me to briefly share with you my trip to a Palestinian water park with 40 young Dheisheh friends. Yesterday, around mid-morning, I had the opportunity to join the Ibdaa youth to a private water park 20 min. south of Dheisheh in the village of Beit Sahour. 'Water park' might not be the two words that come to mind when you think of Palestine, but rest assured than when you put water and children in one place together the formula will yield standard results. I spent about an hour immersing myself in the unheated and rather refreshing 50m pool and tossing young boys into the water from the poolside. The children were exuberant and it was a temporary solice to see them enjoying themselves as any children would. Such an experience strengthens the foundation underlying my decision to spend this short 4 months of my life living in a refugee camp in Palestine.

The Calm Before the Storm

The evening before last, while relaxing amidst the casual Middle Eastern ambiance in the Ibdaa restaurant, four stories above the raucous, bustling streets surrounding Dheisheh, I experienced my first Levantine downpour. The sun had just set over Al Khadr in the south and there was a faint golden glow cast over the camp as a blanket of gray clouds moved in from west over the Meditteranean. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the jagged, pinkish rods of lightning striking just over the hills south of Dheisheh, and they were moving right towards us.

As the electrical front moved nearer to the camp the accompanying thunder began to rattle my interest, and with every momentary jolt of raw energy I couldn't help but make verbal exclamations out of sheer excitement. Pretty soon, the heart of the storm was on top of the camp and I could hear the slight tapping on Ibdaa's aluminum roof soon turn into a heavy cocophony of resonant sounds from the rain connecting with the variety of surfaces above and below. As I peered down to the shimmering streets the pungent smell of at least 6 months of dirt and grime began to fill the air. The storm was shortlived, but in combination with the cooler temperatures descending on the area every night as of late, we are sure that the significant seasonal changes are upon us.

There is another storm that seems to be looming over the region, more existential in terms of the Palestine question, and which is certainly rearing tumultuous and tangible elsewhere in the Arab world. "Middle East Peace?", read the headlines from Al Jazeera to Yahoo News, and although Ms. Rice, who made a visit just a few miles from here two days ago seems "optimistic", the future resolution of this nearly 60 year conflict is still unclear as ever.

I am moving into an area where 'the truth lies somewhere in the middle' approach just doesn't seem very truthful based on my experience here. I want to help you understand why by hearing the sentiments of two individuals which are far more noteworthy than my own, from one Israeli and one Palestinian whom I have had the chance to listen to recently.

An Israeli academic, activist and longtime friend of my mentor here, visited Ibdaa recently. He shared with us his overall perceptions about the formulation of the conflict, the reasons behind the failed peace processes, the apparent fundamental agenda of the occupying power, the question of the illegal settlements, and how the prospects for peace have changed drastically in the last few years, among other impressions. Many of his points stood out to me, and though I wish that I could offer you the complete recording, soundbites are all that I can offer here. This Israeli friend started at the beginning, and framed the conversation with the idea of a "strategic conception" underlying the emergence of the Israeli State, which is perhaps this conflicts most permanent inner contradiction - how to build Eretz Israel (the name for all of Palestine in the Jewish religion) as an exclusive Jewish state in spite of the presence of the indigenous Arabs.

The early Israeli leadership, at least Israel's prime architect, David Ben-Gurion, had no reservations about his assertion that, "The Arabs will have to go." Could it be possible that peace has never been acheived not because Israel "has no partner in peace", which is the status quo interpretation, but because peace goes against Israel's prime objective, to acquire as much of Palestine as possible? Ariel Sharon, the former Prime Minister, stated at one point that "the war of 1948 is not finished", which in simple terms was a war to determine the future borders of Israel. Particular ideologues in the Zionist leadership have as their supreme objective to Judaize all of historical Palestine and fixing borders, which has been one of the principle issues of the ongoing peace negotiations, would be an end to that process. It has been and continues to be a process of colonization and disposession, beginning with the systematic "ethnic cleansing" of Palestinians between the years of 1947-48, and it is unlikely that peace will take hold here until such a process ends.

So what would a future Palestinian state look like? Since the Oslo years (1990's) the hardline leadership has supported a 'cheese-block' policy. On the ground this has meant that Israel continues to build illegal settlements scattered across the West Bank, in essence cantonizing the Arab areas and in some cases completely surrounding them. Condaleeza Rice has taken objection to this, and rightly so, by asserting that it will be impossible for Palestinians to have a state if there is no continuity to their territory. Because a "Palestinian continuity is an Israeli discontinuity", the plan has metamorphosed into a contiguous model, meaning a 3-dimensional approach to the problem by building tunnels, bridges, and exclusive access roads around the Palestinian areas.

I want to highlight just two more points that our friend shared with us, the Wall and Israeli domestic support for peace. First, it was mentioned that the Wall has become very popular across the board in Israel, not only for security reasons, but by literally concretizing the idea of separation. Out of sight out of mind, as it were. The issue of Palestine has in the last several years become more of a nuisance to Israelis than much else, like a bout of excema that can cause some discomfort occasionally, but nothing a little cream can't soothe. Although most Americans may not be aware of it, in the 90's Israeli public opinion was in favor of peace via giving some attention to the Palestinian demands, namely statehood. Unfortunately, the Oslo process failed horribly during this period, which historians have now categorically proven was a result of Israeli manipulation and false commitments rather than Palestinian sabotage, and as a result of the frustration and worsening of conditions in the West Bank and Gaza, violence against Israel spiked. Now, years after the second Intifada, the number of Israelis who support peace with the Palestinians has become a very tiny minority, and mobilizing Israeli solidarity for the Palestinian cause might as well be a foregone conclusion aside from a very brave and forwar-thinking few.

This conflict is understandably complicated, though perhaps more in the differing perceptions it has imbibed than in the actual facts on the ground. In the last thirty years a wealth of archived material has surfaced from personal diaries, correspondence, and formal statements from the Israeli and Palestinian leadership, leading to the emergence of what has been termed the "new history" of the Israel/Palestine issue. This historical analysis has remained elusive in the US, but with this material historians from both communities have pieced together what they believe is a more accurate interpretation of historical events, and the above statements are born out of this area.

To understand the perceptions of the 'peace process' from the average Palestinian is perhaps most important, for these are the resilient people living under the occupation on a daily basis. Hope is a feeling that no one I have met here wants to relinquish, yet it was shared with me by a friend that to assume that they have anything to gain from the most recent peace effort would be exceedingly optimistic. The push for the Annapolis conference can be viewed more realistically as a temporary effort to appease the more significant players in the Middle East, such as Iran and Syria, and will very likely have little affect on the lives of the average Palestinians. The current peace process will most likely be based on the decades-old overwhelming power imbalance and the outcome will again be determined by Israel, with the US acting in a very limited way as a broker, though hardly the 'honest broker' that this conflict deserves.

There are hundreds of examples occurring on a daily basis, and endless more reaching back more than 60 years, that can express the challenges of living within an armed conflict environment. I have described my experiences at the checkpoints before, as well as a number of stories from others. These were my only frames of reference for understanding what life is like under occupation, but that all changed last night. Unfortunately, you just might have to wait for the next installment to come to know my first experience of a military incursion into the Dheisheh Refugee Camp.

World's Apart

Who knew that such a small country could be so surprisingly diverse. This past weekend was my first extended foray through Israel proper (with co-pilot Eric), during which we navigated our way from Jerusalem to, literally, the highest heights - the Golan Heights to be exact - and consuming every cultural and geographic wonder we had the chance to encounter along the way.

On Friday, in our metallic silver Ford Focus and with only vague impressions of our destinations in mind, Eric and I sped out of Jerusalem and headed west towards the Mediterranean. The city of Haifa was to be our first terminus point, a port city and resort town famous for its sandy beaches and turquoise sea. Haifa is pretty much a straight shot from Tel Aviv, and aside from the roadside solicitations in Hebrew and the funky foreign cars - the Citroen 'Jumpy', for instance - it might have been easier to believe that you were in northern California.

Some Israelis are fond of the euphemism that they have 'made the desert bloom', and upon seeing the abundance of flowering oleander, towering eucalyptus, and vast fields of citrus, it is easy to see why that little anecdote took root so quickly, so to speak. Driving alongside this familiar greenscape, with the windows down and the sweet ocean air filling the cabin of our modern voyagers vessel, we eventually found ourselves within just feet of a very unexpectedly luxurious beach. We gazed in awe that we had traveled only one hour from Palestinian refugee camp to oceanside refuge -a topic I would like to address further in a moment - but it didn't take us long to kick off our sandals and go for a stroll in the surf.

The ocean was sublime and refreshing after hours of dusty wanderings and the waves were large enough to keep us locked into bodysurfing for the whole of the next day. The beach had a European feel about it with the help of speedo clad men and the Slavic speaking Haifa residents, though it wasn't difficult to realize that I was very much in Israel when I saw an old man with a silver Star of David the size of a his palm hanging around his neck.

In Haifa you can find another religious symbol of global import, the Baha'i World Center. Situated on the pristine and finely groomed garden terraces cascading down the northern slope of Mt. Carmel (the Carmelites were founded there) is the world seat of the generally unfamiliar and world's youngest and most diverse religion. The city itself is often portrayed as a 'mosaic of peaceful coexistence' - it has a significant Arab population, too - though this does conceal some major social rifts between the communities, however covert to the casual observe like myself, and both suffered much from the rain of rockets fired by Hezbollah from southern Lebanon last summer.

With a little more 'country' in mind my cohort and I left Haifa on Sunday morning and wound our way through the Galilee, past the apocalyptic valley of Megiddo (Armageddon), through the city of Jesus' childhood, Nazareth, and down onto the Sea of Galilee, an enormous deep-blue lake replete with dueling jet skis. After sailing along the coast we crossed the Jordan River and finally entered into the Yehudiya Nature Reserve, a 16,500-acre park in the heart of the Golan Heights. Upon finding a map of the park (the only legitimate map of our entire journey) Eric and I head across a barren and rocky field, past grazing cattle and savanna grass, by a 3rd century BCE site of stone ruins overlooking the Sea, and eventually climbed our way down into the Zavitan canyon.

What we found there was truly a desert oasis, a series of clear pools carved out of the basalt rock by tumbling waterfalls. Fascinating to ponder that the pools have been used by various peoples for over 3000 years, and that my friend and I were jumping off the rocks and doing laps in the cool waters, maybe just as the Holy Lands ancient inhabitants might have also. After ascending the canyon walls via a steep rocky incline and steel rail ladder we walked back among the ruins of Sheikh Hussein and through the sparse, dry terrain. My friend and I contemplated camping in the park but discovered that Yehudiya camping was just a little peculiar relative to our camping standards in the US - a fallow field with rows of white tents and within a stones throw of a cow pasture. No thank you.

So we headed a few miles north in our trusty Ford until we hit the Israeli town of Katzrin, a 70's-born hamlet with an "unmistakable feel of a place that never quite bridged the gap between planning board and reality," according to the Lonely Planet guidebook. The shwarma, a pita packed with meat and random veggies adopted from Palestinian cuisine (as is most of Israeli food), was tasty despite the town losing out on most other counts.

Our next destination was Majdal Shams, a Druze town in the northern most part of Israel in the Golan Heights. The region of the Upper Golan is a geopolitically tense range of mountains, valleys, and strategic military outposts. Driving through the area is literally driving through a battlefield - Israel wrested control of the Golan from Syria in the Six Day War of 1967, and annexed the area in 1981. Winding their way around the barren peaks covered with surveillance equipment would be a military buffs delight to be sure. We passed at least three Israeli military bases, stocked with rows of armored personnel carriers, battle-hardened tanks and artillery, and we even got to sit in a disembodied turret of an Israeli tank, overlooking a valley where Israel's fiercest battles were fought. In spite of the militaristic feel, however, the regions cool climate, windswept highland fields, and spring greenery help to make it the prime weekend destination for Israelis.

Upon arriving in Majdal Shams, a town of 20,000 on slopes of Mt. Hermon, and home to Israel's only ski slope, we were introduced to a mutual friend and spent the evening in his very accommodating apartments in a community development building. We took some time the next morning chatting with our new acquaintance, the director of a very successful development NGO that is exceptionally unique in this context and an effective model of community organizing, offering the best community medical services in Israel in addition to its array of other community development activities. It was our candid discussion pertaining to the Golan Heights, however, that really captured our attention.

The community of Majdal Shams, although living in an area annexed by Israel in 1981 (though technically it is still occupied) consider themselves Syrian citizens first. They are the remnants of nearly 50,000 Golani Syrians that he says were pushed out of the area in 1968 by the Israeli Army. The area is still a contested one, and the reasons for its current status are not as complex as other irredentist claims in Israel tend to be. The conventional interpretation for Israel's control of the region is its strategic importance, it is the high ground after all, and it is obvious that this policy is reflected elsewhere in Israel and Palestine. A more accurate analysis, though, is informed by the understanding that it was the water, not the military positioning, that is the real resource of strategic value.

The Upper Golan is the headwater of all the H2O that flows into Israel, and an abundant agricultural zone as well (the best apples in the Middle East come from there). To 'make the desert bloom' requires a tremendous surplus of water as you might imagine, and assuring sustainable access to this resource has been vital to Israel's existence. For feeding the thousands of Israeli greenhouses along the Jordanian border to filling the swimming pools in the California-like settlements, the founders of Israel long ago strategized about its importance.

Upon leaving the Golan and retracing our steps back towards the Sea of Galilee, the desert quality of the region descended upon us like a stuffy blanket molding itself to every square inch of our bodies. South of the Sea there was little to capture our interest, other than the rows of date palms, bananas, and military vehicles buzzing by like clockwork about every 3-5 minutes. After about an hour or so of the sweat-inducing, sweltering wind we entered into the northern most point of the West Bank. Our path paralleled the Jordan River, the de facto border between Jordan and the P.T., though the atmosphere was so full of 'dust of the Holy Land' that we could barely make out the other side of the river.

The only stimulating thing about the trek was the border fence - a set of three barbed wire fences, one electrified - and the occasional border guards, in olive drab hummers mounted with M-60 machine guns and at least 4 soldiers, blazing on the military-only road and kicking up a limestone dust-storm in their wake. Eric and I noticed a war memorial at the crest of a hill, only about 30' from the fence, and recognized that it was a fleeting photo opportunity. We parked the car across the highway and jumped a short metal guardrail to get to a number of large boulders with what I guessed were the cogs and assorted parts of a destroyed tank. With Israeli flag fluttering above I posed briefly, revelling in the idea of where we were at that moment, and as Eric was looking off into the distance he caught my attention sharply when he said, "Oh shit, the hummer is coming back."

My eyes scanned the road and there was the Israeli hummer racing down the road. "Is it coming for us?", we wondered. Needless to say, we were back in the car in a flash. As I started the engine and was about to pull out the hummer came up alongside of us. The soldiers looked our way, I smiled and waved - not a word exchanged - and put the car in drive and off we went. They followed us for awhile and eventually fell behind, and our anxiety levels gradually returned to normal. We figured they were just doing the routine check-up, and realized that we were just a couple of guys taking a nostalgic photo at the memorial. No harm done.

There is little else to tell about our journey. Before leaving you, though, I would like to return to the subject that I did not address earlier in this blog entry, the disparity between the two worlds I am commuting between. It is difficult for me to explain the feelings generated by the opposing experiences on the two sides of the Wall. Going from refugee camp to California-like beach in a matter of an hour is easy enough by car, but it does strain the psyche considerably. What is most troubling to me is that the Israelis are generally oblivious to life as it is lived in the West Bank, hardly different from the malaise affecting my fellow Americans as well. The only difference is proximal.

In talking with the average Israeli I have found that they do recognize that "life is tough over there", but most spend little time reflecting upon it deeply it would seem. I choose not to blame them for it given the context - they are doing what they have to do to get by, maybe can't afford the time to give a thought to such issues, and their government has become quite proficient at creating the psychological and overtly physical rift between the two sides. It is a somber admission that most Israelis will never know how adversely the Occupation has affected the Palestinians, and most Palestinians will never be able to see the world that lies just miles away.

Can you imagine how exasperating it must be for my friends in Dheisheh that I am able to travel freely around this country, including the Palestinian Territories, as a carefree foreigner digesting all of the beauty that they may never be able to access? In spite of this they accept my interest in the entire experience here, and are patient and hopeful that they too may someday jump into the Yehudiya pools, stroll along the beach, and experience what a life unoccupied is really like. I have yet to experience the fullness of what it means to be Israeli, but I do know that I am incredibly fortunate to experience first hand what life is like on this side of the Wall, and I have many great friends here that have been willing to show me the way. The day after the anniversary of Christopher Columbus, I could not imagine a more compelling journey.

The Path of Most Resistance

Sitting on the white plastic lawn chairs, a light breeze blowing over the crowd and the half-moon hanging above, the crimson satin fabric and long green headresses flowed back and forth across the stage. A troupe from Ramallah traveled to Dheisheh last evening, with an entourage of folkloric dancers, musicians, and mesmerizing pieces of traditional Palestinian physical culture. It was a stunning display of Middle Eastern art with the enchanting music, whirling vibrant colors, and lauding crowd. A truly intercultural experience that I wish I could have shared with you.

Earlier in the day I traveled to Jerusalem for a meeting at the Ambassador Hotel. Although I was there in my personal capacity, I was able to sit with the director of Search for Common Ground in the region (a former Canadian diplomat), an SIT alumni, and the founders of an NGO in Canada - the Peace it Together Project. The NGO brings groups of Israelis, Palestinians and Canadians together on a Vancouver island to work on dialogue and conflict resolution skills, and to facilitate their learning about and eventual mutual creation of short movies that have to be relevant to the conflict in some way. Through the media training and in coming together to create a final production, the founders hope to ease tensions and forge relationships across the divided communities.

Such work may not seem particularly sexy to most Americans, most of whom have come to percieve the high-level political peace processes as the only legitimate means of inter-state conciliation. It doesn't help either that those peace processes and agreements more often than not fail abissmally, for a variety of reasons. And then the average person is left with a feeling of disdain for diplomacy and a more deeply entrenched perception that war is inevitable, a part of human nature, and there is nothing we can do about it. Such is the idea that I am spending a lot of time and energy to dispel.

Out of 35 peace accords between and within countries from the end of the Cold War to 2005, 34 failed. The reasons for this are quite complex of course, but I believe such a trend unvequivocally reveals that diplomacy alone (or military intervention for that matter) do little to avert the cycles of violence in the end. But there has been a sea change in the international conflict arena in the last 20 years that has sought to address that unfortunate status quo inclination, though most people operating 'within the box' know little to nothing about it.

What has been previously coined as 'Second Track' diplomacy (First Track being the government to government method) has now become a more widely accepted and promulgated approach towards peacebuilding. I say "previously coined" because the term has now expanded into a 'Multi-Track' model, meaning that peace-making is facilitated not only by diplomats and international lawyers, but also regular civilians as well (although I have found that there are quite profound things about them!). Such is the approach of building bridges between conflicting communities through media and sports (such as between China and the US in the 70's by using, of all things, ping pong) and forging relationships that work to attend to some of the underlying causes of conflict, or at least initiate a process that may eventually lead to addressing the core issues at stake.

Myself and literally hundreds of thousands of regular citizens from around the world, trying to live unconventially in a presently conventional political theatre, are the ombudspersons of the peacebuilding process, the cultural ambassadors on an increasingly globalized planet. The work may not be sexy to the normal person, but it is nonetheless provocative, sustainable, and deeply life-changing.