Ramallah, May 15th, 2011

I was strictly warned yesterday by several people to stay close to the premises of my home.  living so close to the town center, around 12 in the afternoon, i heard massive thumping and drum playing and the heavy sounds of marches from my apartment.  im hearing this after hearing ambulance sirens going in and out of the city, people at qalandiya checkpoint being tear gassed and all, ambulances going back and forth from the checkpoint to the city and back. soldiers in civil suit were also attacking those protesting at the checkpoint.  all of this is described of course as 'light clashes'. as of 11 in the morning there were 3 head injuries of men who had tear gas canisters thrown at their heads.  one woman had gone into shock from the tear gas and had to be helped by medics.

Not being able to resist the urge of stepping into what i'm hearing from my window, seeing pictures online of what is happening literally outside my window, i took my camera and left out the door.  What I saw was an ecstatic energy of kids young and old, adults young and old, waves of flags and banners, music, food, and a stage filled with singers and dabkeh dancers rhythmically stomping their feet to the exuberant beats of traditional Palestinian music , young men piled onto vans, yelling into the bullhorn and making the crowd around the town center cheer, sing along and clap, and young school children scouts march with their drums and musical instruments around the center, with one cheek face painted with the triangular red cutting into the black, white and green stripe.  The Palestinian flag.

An enormous make shift key stood upright near the "Manara", the town center, a circular area marked by 5 lion statues , each lion facing an offshoot street from the center.  The old fashioned key, picturized in all sizes, is a symbol for the right to return, for those who were displaced in the catastrophic events of 1948.

I saw a child sitting peacefully on the shoulders of his father (i'm assuming father) facing the stage in front of him, holding a small key in his hand, a palestinian bannered flag wrapped around his neck, with a t-shirt that said 1948 in the back.  Teenagers littered the tops of buildings, waving massive flags.  When the dabkah music started, they would also dance along.

I am pleasantly surprised and impressed by how events have been organized within Ramallah.  What's happening at the checkpoints between soldiers and civilians is a different story.  Yesterday, 17 year old Milad Said Ayyash, was killed in East Jerusalem by live ammunition, which according to witnesses, came from a settlement private guard.  The funeral procession of the boy, hundreds of Palestinians marching towards Al-Aqsa mosque, was attacked by tear gas.

Within the city, away from soldiers, what I see is a commemoration and a spirit that says that the Nakba is not a memory that has been abandoned. Nor is it something that will be forgotten.