CB Magazine Vol. 9 Ed. 37 by Crossing Borders

cb magazine

vol. 9 edition no. 37

Reflections

inside the conflict zone

Egypt Israel Yemen Denmark Palestine Jordan 28 journalists on a personal journey into unknown territory

Growing Pains CB Advisory Board

Prof. Munther Dajani (Chair Person), Mr. Herbert Pundik, Ms. Else Hammerich, Ms. Lotte Lund, Mr. Hanna Siniora, Mr. Jakob Erle, Mr. Mossi Raz and Mr. Greg Newbold

Executive Board

Ms. Anja Gustavsen (Chair), Ms. Rosa Dich (Vice Chair Person), Ms. Britha Mikkelsen, Mr. Jørn Faurschou, Ms. Louise Breum Brekke, Ms. Anne Gyrithe Bonne, Ms. Mette Juel Madsen and Mr. Peter Andreas Bredsdorff, Mr. Asbjoern Petersen, Ms. Rikke Mikkelsen

Executive Secretariat

Mr. Garba Diallo (Director), Mrs. Nina Brinck (Chief Financial Officer) and Ms. Farhiya Khalid (Project Intern)

Crossing Borders, Krogerup Højskole Højskolevej 9, 3050 Humlebæk, Denmark Tel +45 49213371 Web www.crossingborder.org E-mail cb@crossingborder.org

Crossing Borders partner organizations

Israel Givat Haviva Palestine Peace and Democracy Forum Jordan Masar Centre Germany Dialogue Lab Finland The Finnish Institute In The Middle East

Palestinian Coordinator

Ms. Suheir Hashimeh Tel +972 544292574 E-mail suheir@crossingborder.org

Israeli Coordinator

Ms. Dorit Maor Tel +972 544901415 E-mail dorit@crossingborder.org

Jordanian Coordinator

Mr. Khaled Shorman Tel +962 65858748 E-mail kshorman@nets.com.jo

Egyptian Coordinator

Ms. Marianne Nagy Tel +20 180 21 5331 E-mail marianne@crossingborder.org

Editor-In-Chief/Danish Coordinator Ms. Anja Gustavsen E-mail anjag@parknet.dk

Language Editor

Shawna Kenney E-mail shawnajean@yahoo.com

Three months have passed since the 28 journalists featured in this magazine last saw one another. Each and every one of them has been back in the wellknown, back in their familiar zone. They have been talking to family and friends about meeting the 'other side,' totally different cultures, and, for some, even 'the enemy.' And here, in the quiet aftermath of their first encounter, there has been time to think, reminisce and reflect. In this magazine, the reflections take different forms – of hope, disappointment, frustration, enlightenment and despair. The participants of the last CB Media Course felt the confusion, the surprise, the doubt, the joy, the certainty, the power of friendship and the uneasiness of seeing new things, even things that were difficult to understand. This is what dialogue and personal encounters across cultural borders can accomplish – and it is exactly what ’Crossing Borders’ stands for, exactly what this magazine wants to achieve. On the following pages you, dear reader, will experience many conflicting emotions. The journalists have been asked to reflect on their 12 days in Denmark, the place where they met for the first time. When you dive into this magazine, you’ll meet the Israeli who felt her "identity vanishes in the wake of hate and hard words," the Palestinian that believes that humanity and friendship will break down stereotypes and cultural misconception, the Egyptian that realized fear can ruin an otherwise good experience and the Yemini who took a critical look at the Media institutions in his own country, deciding to make a difference. And while you read, it might be interesting to know that all of these 28 courageous people are about to meet again. This time in Aqaba, Jordan – for three more days. We invite you to cross borders with us. Anja Gustavsen, Editor-in-chief

Photographers

Patrick Holbek, Andrew Pellett and Peter R. Poulsen

Art Director

Matt Baumgardner E-mail mbaumgardner@ec.rr.com Crossing Borders is a non profit, non governmental organization that provides youth and educators from the Middle East and Europe with dialogue space and media, communication and conflict management skills training. The aim of CB is to increase the possibilities for the world peace with special focus on the ME.

This magazine has been produced with the finacial support of the Danish Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ DEMENA Youth Fund through the Danish Development NGO MS and Politiken & Jyllands-Postens Fond. The opinions expressed in the articles do not reflect or represent the opinion of the Danish Ministry, MS, Crossing Borders or the partner organisations. The opinions are the sole responsibility of the individual writers. We invite you to comment on any of the articles in this magazine by emailing us at cb@crossingborder.org

Fantasy vs. Reality Nivine Sharaf finds idealism hard to hang on to when faced with harsh reality.

My Good Luck Mai Koloti chooses to look at the bright side of things, no matter what.

When My Personal Freedom is Offending Yours

Katherine Tscheemerinsky takes issue with mainstream co-option of religious garb, while questioning her own comfort zone.

Samira the Astonishing Hakim Bishara experiences a case of mistaken identity in a Berlin bar shortly after his stay in Denmark.

An Amazing Experience Nidal Rafa reminisces about her August experiences in Denmark.

Finally on Facebook Miki Levy joins an online social network, ultimately finding a safe space for multicultural friendships.

The Corner Muna Samawi waxes poetic about the truth, and losing her luggage in a foreign land.

Choose It or Lose It Qamar Daher finds her friends to be the best mood-altering enhancements.

Meeting 'Fahriyya' Kholod Massalha learns lots about Yemen from a new friend in the program.

Back to Reality Doron Bar-Gil gets firmly rooted in reality back home in Jerusalem.

Just Another Day at the Beach? Naimah Hussain visits Ramallah and encounters inconvenience, Palestinian-style.

A Priceless Experience Mohammad Ghazal considers his Crossing Borders experience valuable, thanks to his fellow participants.

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LETTERS EDITOR to the

Dear Editor, When I got the new CB Magazine, I almost couldn’t believe it. Are those printed figures and faces ours? Could it be that those two exhausting weeks produced this fascinating product? The answer is yes. Yes, we did it. Reading all the articles brings lots of different feelings. One article made me laugh, another one got me angry and a third one made me sad. There is an unbelievable dissonance in this magazine. On one hand, the colors look great and make it look so refreshing, a fancy magazine. On the other hand, there are lots of uneasy texts, full of emotions, sadness, anger and pessimism. It’s hard not to noitce that lots of articles end in a pessimitic way. Some just reconcile with the situation even without accepting it. Some decided to deal with different issuses, as long as it was not the conflict. Are those aritcles contributing in one way or another to bring an end to the conflict? I doubt it. But at least they are proving that all of us, from any background, religious or political point of view, share the same common universal values. I’m still not sure whether we and our children will have the chance to see a general peace and calm in the middle east. But reading this magzine, at least proves to me, that when the peace comes, we’ll be the right people to live together. —Doron Bar-Gil

East journalists ought to gain the legitimacy of their very cause, and the legitimacy of their voice in its midst.

A Thought from a CB veteran By Jihan Abdalla Recently the world has been growing tired of reading and listening about world wars, especially the seemingly never-ending one in the Middle East. The world we are in now views information as a choice. And audiences are consciously flipping channels and newspaper pages to entertainment, sports – almost deliberately away from a tragedy-struck Middle East, from unimaginable natural disasters, and horrid baby poisonings. Young Middle East journalists, those of Crossing Borders included have been trying to carve their names and messages through tight cracks, through channels and newspaper pages that are ever more intolerant and demanding. This is the challenge. It is not a matter of keeping the world interested in their miseries, view them as victims opposed to aggressors, and pity them for their losses. Middle

Denmark has freedom of speech In the article “land of Cartoons” in the CB magazine vol. 9 edition no 36, Kholod Massalha raises the question of freedom of speech for immigrants in Denmark. On the basis of only one interview with a Lebanese immigrant in Denmark, Kholod concludes that Denmark is a racist country, which discriminates against all immigrants from the Middle East. Also, Kholod claims on the basis of just this one interview, that immigrants in Denmark do not enjoy the same right to freedom of speech as other Danish citizens. This is not only uncritical journalism. It is also untrue. Freedom of speech means that anyone has the right to publicly express his or her thought in speech or in writing. This is a right that everybody has in Denmark no matter religious, political or national affiliation. This right was certainly exercised both by the Imams and representatives for the more moderate Mus-

Determined hate or what? Kathrine Tschemerinsky Lund- Kirkeby Excited to see the result of our writings I opened the latest edition of CB Magazine. Reading the articles was like being reunited with old friends and forgotten conversations, but it also infused me with a rage that I had not encountered before, even during my twelve days at Vallekilde. It is especially the close reading of the article ‘Close encounters for the first time’, that made my guts flip twice and my voice raise to a level so that even my own ears were bothered. The author of the article states that he believes that the war between Muslims and Jews will never end, this he states; is because the Prophet Mohammed has said: “the hour will not come to pass until you fight the Jews.” As I understand it this means that the author recognizes the existence of a primordial feud between Muslims and Jews that can never really be resolved? I honestly mourn this determined believing, that leaves out any attempt for atonement. But I also rage because it seems to put out the reason for us young people to meet and even try to talk about a future different from what our parents’ generations have created.

lim community after the publication of the Muhammad cartoons. As Kholod mentions, Danish Muslim organizations held public demonstrations to protest against the publications. She somehow overlooks the fact that a public demonstration is also a way to exercises freedom of expression. As I see it, the problem is not the lack of freedom of speech in Denmark, but the lack of tradition among immigrants to make proper use of it. It is the responsibility of all Danish citizens to create a society where everybody feels they are welcome to express their opinion in public. —Signe. H. Damkjær Among the many constructive reflections I found in the latest edition of the Crossing Borders Magazine, I also found some which seem to be built on misconceptions. In the article, Land of cartoons, the journalist mixes her own prejudgments with the experiences of a Lebanese immigrant in Denmark. The result is a misunderstood critique of the Danish principle of freedom of speech. Though many of the points made are valid they have little to do with this principle. The fact that Ekstra Bladet, together with other media and a majority in the Danish Parliament, run a long lasting campaign against Muslim immigrants does not in itself mean that freedom of speech does not apply to Muslims. It is correct, I believe, to regard the initial publishing of the Muhammad cartoons in Jyllands-Posten as part of the said campaign, but to claim that the freedom of speech as a result of this does not work “the other way” is just plain nonsense. Muslim immigrants are rarely heard in public debate, true, and the reasons for that are many, the two most important probably being the media’s general neglect of minority issues based on the self-understanding of the minorities themselves and the immigrants’ relatively weak position in society. But again, this does not mean that Muslims do not have the right to free speech – by law they do. And a comment to the last paragraph: I wonder how many other immigrants the journalist asked and how the questions were put, since nobody else wanted to give an interview. When I was with a group of eight people from the course we met a lot of immigrants willing to talk to us, both criticizing and praising Denmark. —Bjarke Hartmeyer Christiansen

During their August visit to Copenhagen, the 28 journalists visited various media organizations. Pictured is the Danish newspaper, Politiken. Dana Shekem takes the discussion even further in her article below.

Notebook of a Wandering Journalist

hey call us terrorists, but we are freedom fighters," said Amal, from beautiful Haifa. "But I'm defending my home. Seven of my friends have died. I'm afraid to just leave my home and ride the bus," said Matt, also from beautiful Haifa. This is not a question of bias but rather of hypersensitivity of a conflict that is so personal. Both sides have been inflicting a continuous pain on each other since the day they were born. Nobody can tell their story for them, either objectively or

In their weakness, Israelis and Palestinians have come to know media as biased, people as unjust and the world as unfair

"Journalism is just a word, and media is but a mouthpiece..." subjectively. Journalism is just a word, and media is but a mouthpiece, and anything said of a matter so grave, so hurtful will lead to dispute and building walls of defensiveness. The only non-culturallybiased approach to media probably is to give them some peace of mind by removing the stress of the conflict, simply by giving them just enough coverage in portraying a more realistic global vision of the world. Currently out of 60 minutes of a generic cable news channels' news coverage, 30 to 35 minutes cover Middle Eastern news, while 15 minutes cover news of countries from the five remaining continents, the 10 minutes that remain is commercial space allotted for advertisements. This generally accepted format of international news leaves very little airtime to shed light on other matters, such as famines, diseases, poverty and human rights' issues, The excessive news coverage of the ArabIsraeli conflict and theoretical analysis, year after year, has caused it to evolve into a live story of history and conflict. In our keenness to report the full story by over-

zealously stating events that take place, both Palestinians and Israelis have been dehumanized, which leads to marginalizing the people who are all victims of this war and ongoing conflict. In their weakness, Israelis and Palestinians have come to know media as biased, people as unjust and the world as unfair. Yet media is not the culprit; it is neither the real problem nor can it be a real solution. Dana Shekem is a 27-year-old Palestinian living in Amman, Jordan. She works as a journalist at Noorsat Global Satellite Communications Company.

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Signe and Katherine in front of The Little Mermaid: "The Little Mermaid is not only a national symbol of Denmark but also very associated with Copenhagen, the city where I live. Also, the fairytale is written by our national poet H.C Andersen whose motto was 'to travel is to live,' a motto that goes well with the ideology of CB. "

"This summer I got to be my cousin's maid of honor. It was the most glamorous day yet! I will never have this much makeup on, until my own wedding day."

Photographer: Rune von Buschmann

VALLEKILDE HANGOVER

aturday morning: a Twister mat on my floor, a camera full of silly pictures of four happy people, four empty glasses and half a bottle of whisky on my table, a head that is heavy with deep inspiring conversations, and this slow familiar feeling of undigested fun. What time did they leave? I put on the Israeli singer Shalom Chanoch, whose soft and pleasant Hebrew voice reminds me of the beauty in the universal and enjoyable language that is music. “That truly is cultural exchange,” I think, and send a grateful thought to my new friend from Ashdod, who does not care much about copyright. The other Danes I met at the Crossing Borders course a few weeks earlier left my apartment at five in the morning. Apart from playing Twister, we had spent the night talking. Talking about Vallekilde, about Palestine, about Israel, Jordan, food, Burquas, Monty Python, conflicts, soap bubbles, war, The Danish Royal family, and religion. We disagreed heavily about it all. And somewhere in the happiness of being together again I felt surprised in realizing that I didn’t know them at all. In Vallekilde we were “the Danes.” We were not “the Arabs” or the “Israelis.” Last night we were not “the Danes” anymore. We were three individuals with different opinions. I left Vallekilde with a notebook full of international phone numbers in my 06

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"I left Vallekilde with a notebook full of international phone numbers in my pocket, Shalom Chanoch songs in my iPod and mixed emotions in my heart."

pocket, Shalom Chanoch songs in my iPod and mixed emotions in my heart. Most dominant was the feeling of letting go. Letting go of the frustration, which had accompanied me since the first day of the course. Frustration about knowing, that no matter how much I study, I will never fully be able to grasp the conflict in the Middle East. I will never completely understand what it means to have your childhood, your youth, family, future plans and your entire world wrapped in war and coiled in conflict. All I wanted that day was to get back to Copenhagen and to never again think about the Middle East. And maybe most of all, I was frustrated about the fact that I could not do that. Soon I will be in Jordan. Before that I have to make sense of Vallekilde. I have to understand what my role will be both as a Dane and as an individual. “Your role could be to see the conflict from both sides. To somehow mediate and to be neutral. To represent the West.” These were some of the things said to me in the course’s final discussion. But I cannot do that. Is it ever possible to be neutral? Does neutral mean that I am not entitled to have an opinion? How can I represent the West, which also includes the UK, France and the USA? And in

the empty whisky glasses of my country mates, I see that my opinions do not even represent Denmark. I can only speak for myself, just as we cannot judge the Israeli students for the decisions of the Israeli government, or the Palestinian students for the actions of Hamas. We are not countries or nations. We are human beings. Not only are we entitled to have our own opinion, but we are obliged to have one. We are obliged to participate in and derive meaning from discussions, from newspapers, reports and personal interaction. Obliged because of our roles as journalists, as participants in the course in Vallekilde. Obliged as citizens in a globalized world. I realize now why I cannot just let go of the Middle East. It is because I want to participate in this world. Not as a Dane, but as a human being. I want this because of a notebook full of foreign addresses and invitations. The soundtrack of beautiful memories from Vallekilde does not require the knowledge of a language. I go to the kitchen and turn on the water…to wash the glasses – not my hands. Signe H. Damkjær is a 27-year-old Dane. She is studying journalism at the Danish University RUC.

A REFLECTION ON DOORS

did not realize why I was so drawn to that photograph until this morning. It is a black and white photo of an old, weathered, wooden door. I had seen that one photograph a dozen times, and deemed it as ordinary and unimpressive. One of my favorite photographers, Edward Weston, took it back in 1940. This morning I realized that I was drawn to the photo because it captures my most significant Crossing Borders experience. And yet an old door ought to be far from fascinating, really. It defeats the whole point of its purpose: protection. It is fragile, and like my Crossing Borders experience seemed at first, incapable of fending off strangers and harsh weather. All our lives we were taught to tightly lock our doors and keep everything and everyone we did not know out and away. We were taught to stay safe and warm inside. Doors, I now realize, are impediments to knowing and letting oneself be known, and seen. They stop entrance and exit to the endless possibilities in and out of this world. That is also their limitation. They stop people, they prevent view, entrance and knowledge; they are borders. Provided we are allowed in, or welcomed beyond the borders of a door, we must knock first, ask for permission. Only then can we open the door, or have it opened for us. Only then can we begin

"It is fragile, and like my Crossing Borders experience seemed at first, incapable of fending off strangers and harsh weather." to discover, to get to know the other, begin to see and understand what is there. Opportunities are often symbolized as doors, and my Crossing Borders experience, though a door, has taught me to forgo owning doors because all doors are old and weathered and insufficient. And to live, and to live well, it is necessary to completely leave behind old doors, and question why they were ever there

In CB I had to first open up my old weathered door, and turn my back on it forever in the first place. In CB I had to first open up my old weathered door, and turn my back on it forever. I got out of my house, turned my back to my old door and walked out alongside whoever was there to join. It is there where we learned, together, to think otherwise, and better. Because we must all walk out and away from our doors before we can ever begin to think of crossing borders.

“My graduation day this May was a very significant day for me. Though the ceremony was symbolic, it was actually the first time I had finished something that was to be only the beginning of everything else that would follow in my academic and professional life.” Jihan Abdalla is a 22-year-old Palestinian. She studied philosophy and journalism in the USA and is now working as a freelancer.

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Fantasy vs. Reality "What would life be like if there was no occupation? The cruelty of [it] forces both sides to pay the price."

Fear of control or lack of it?

re you insane? You could probably get yourself arrested!" My friend’s words rang alert bells in my mind after a quick chat online. We were talking about my participation in the CB workshop in Denmark. "You are kidding! It's a workshop on peace and dialogue, what would be wrong with that?" I asked. "Well you went to Denmark, the country of the cartoons, with people from Palestine and Israel!!!!" "Alright, don't panic," I said to myself as she was just commenting on the dangers of my situation. In a failed attempt to calm myself, I remembered how people in my country boycotted Danish products and some people considering visitors to Denmark as traitors. Days before going back to Egypt I started thinking about what I should do if my friend was right and I was questioned for that visit or even boycotted by some friends. The whole situation is sensitive and I was not sure what would happen. I started arranging my thoughts; I even 8

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"How silly I was for having those fears that ruined my experience at times." prepared a speech on peace and the importance of dialogue, in case I needed it. I revealed my fears to my fellow countrymen, as I discovered we all shared the same unpleasant thoughts. When it was time to go home, the thought of getting arrested or questioned or even getting a cold reception from friends and colleagues was causing lots of worries that neither the sweet company of the amazing people I met nor the evergreen charms of Denmark could erase. Arriving at Cairo International Airport and smelling my home’s breeze helped a bit in distracting me from thinking about unpleasant possibilities. As I approached the arrival window I stood in a long line. At its end sat a huge man in white formal police uniform with lots of medals on his shoulders. I stood there for minutes, carrying my bag on my shoulder, my passport in one hand, crossing the fingers of my other hand for good luck.

It was my turn. The policeman behind the glass window took my passport, went through it quickly, then looked at me with a smile and said, "Welcome back!" It was an actual smile... and that was it. I was home, no questions, no nothing. On my way home I received so many calls from friends and colleagues and none ever mentioned anything about where I had been. There were just warm welcome-back words and a few jokes. How silly I was for having those fears that ruined my experience at times. I discovered that sometimes our own internal baseless fears can hinder us from doing lots of things, and can block the way to what we are looking for. The bigger the risk, the bigger the prize. I think I learned that by experience and some other people need to learn it too. At the end of the night of my return, I was so exhausted and relieved that I laid down on my bed and I whispered to myself, "what a wonderful world.”

Days before going back to Egypt I started thinking about what I should do if my friend was right and I was questioned for that visit or even boycotted by some friends. The whole situation is sensitive and I was not sure what would happen Marianne Nagui is a 28-year-old Egyptian. She is a journalist and has previously worked as a TV producer in Egypt.

It was almost 6 pm on the second day of the Feter Feast and also the first day of the Jewish New Year. If I didn't know any better I would say that the people who live in this country enjoy a high level of harmony and I would personally envy them for the happiness and respect they show for one another and eachothers’ religions. People were all dressed up in new clothes and heading to visit other family members enjoying the festive season. The children were happily playing with their new toys, especially the boys, who seemed fascinated with a gun-like game, while others headed to either a mosque or a synagogue to pray. I felt safe and happy; maybe it was that magical atmosphere of feasts and the vibes of excitement. We decided to head to the beach to enjoy the holiday with my family inlaw. We agreed to take the shortest route, which is a highway running through the Palestinian Occupied Territories of the West Bank. I didn't really think much about that decision or the political implications of that, although I regret that I didn't. As the car sped up, we enjoyed the music and mood of a day with no work commitments, surrounded by loved-ones. The cold shower started – and maybe it never even ended. The first slam in my face was the Separation Wall that Israel is building 'to protect its security' as the Israeli government claims. I wondered, what does security mean? Preventing Palestinian families from visiting each other and celebrating feasts with their loved ones, whether Christian or Muslims? Or does it mean violating the right of religious groups from freely practicing their faith in the holiest temples? I remembered last year when I saw some people jumping over that 10-meter-high concrete cement wall, trying to reach the Aqsa mosque to pray. I wondered

how they achieved their aim this year when the wall was topped with layers of barbed wire and monitoring cameras. My levels of endorphins decreased, and I tried to distract myself from what I was seeing and feeling on both my left and right. I decided to look forward into the horizon. The view was spectacular, green mountains painted carefully with spots of trees and … a settlement! But, I thought to myself, 'girl, come on, think positively!' But I couldn't because all I could think of was how some Palestinian villages that seem to be blessed by existing in such beautiful scenery are yet so cursed to be surrounded by a wall, and that settlements again prevent the people from free access to services and to those olive groves. We approached a checkpoint. A soldier is there, but why? He is supposed to be with his family enjoying Roshoshannah. The cruelty of occupation forces both sides to pay the price— not equally, but each has a share. We waved goodbye to the soldier and said 'Shana Tova' in perfect Hebrew, so he didn't check us or ask for our ID cards, but I wondered, if he knew we were Palestinians, would he let us go as smoothly? Would he greet us back and wish us a 'Happy Eid'? Thoughts were now overflowing in my mind. Consequently, I decided to sleep and the feeling that I had less than an hour ago disappeared, leaving only traces of the questions of 'what would be like if there was no occupation? Is there a place where so many contradictions exist, yet the people are strong enough to remain sane?’ My eyes closed and I fell asleep. Nivine Sandouka Sharaf is a 25-yearold Palestinian. She is a civil society program officer writing for the British NGO, Oxfam GB.

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The » Zionist Enemy

My Good Luck

If I could summarize my insights from this experience in a few words I would say: don't hate, try to know your "enemy." Try to rely on facts, not on stereotypes, and maybe you will see things differently

"Life is worth living, meeting new people, exploring new places, and even getting sick of using trains. All of it is a good opportunity." I am 24 years old and I've never felt that I have good luck. When Suheir called and told me about the Media course, I thought, “With my bad luck, I won’t get to participate." But my visas, insurance, meetings with the Palestinian group all went smoothly and easily. On the day of departure, I was flying inside even before getting into the airplane. "What good luck to get to travel in an airplane," I thought. "I haven’t flown in an airplane since I was a kid.” Our flight wasn’t direct to Copenhagen – we stopped in Frankfurt, Germany. We had four hours before our flight to Copenhagen. Fortunately, we met an old German man who took us on a tour of his city. "I'm really lucky," I thought. "I never knew that I'd visit Frankfurt and have a tour of it!" The German man invited us for a drink, and he was generous with us, which changed my idea that German people are tough and mean. Finally, we reached Copenhagen, and met the Egyptian and Israeli groups. (The Yemenis and Danes were already in Vallekilde the night before). From there we started our travels together as friends. Again I thought, "What good luck to meet other people from other countries!” I never thought I’d have the chance to meet Egyptians, Danes nor Yemenis! We faced problems reaching Vallekilde; we're not used to trains, and some of us lost baggage in the airport, but at least, we were in good health. When we reached Vallekilde, all the tired feeling flew away with the smooth wind, the rain showers, and the green fields. For me, everything was perfect enough to write a poem, and I've written a couple, after two years of writing nothing. That's good luck, since I haven’t written in such long time. The course started, and we all sank in to working and writing, but we didn’t forget to have fun, laugh, be 10

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crazy and party every night. I will never forget the parties we had there; we annoyed the whole village! But I'm sure they miss us now. I miss the weather in Vallekilde. It's hot in here, and it's Ramadan, which is when Muslims are not allowed to eat nor drink from dawn until sunset. It's my good luck that we left Denmark before Ramadan, since sunset there is at almost 10:30 pm, while it's around 7:00 pm here in Jerusalem. I invited the Palestinian group to my residence on September 11th for a breakfast. Suheir, Jihan, Nivine, Baha, Qamar, Kholod, Inas, Marwan and Naimah the Danish (fortunately she was in Ramallah) all came. We had a great time together. We missed all of our friends from other countries: Egyptians, Israelis, Yemenis, Danes, and Jordanians. Oh, borders won't allow them. What bad luck! But it's good luck we're going to meet again in November in Aqaba. This course taught me to look at life from other angles, to look at the full side of a half-filled cup. Life is worth living, meeting new people, exploring new places, even getting sick of using trains—all of it is a very good o p p or t u n it y and good luck. Mai Kaloti is a 24-year-old Palestinian. She works as a journalist at the Arabic daily, Al Quds.

"This place is called Mount Monfort (it means the strongest mountain). It's in the north of Israel, in the Galil, very close to the home of a captured Israeli soldier by the name of Gilad Shalit. I chose this photo first of all to remind everyone that Gilad Shalit is 814 days away from home and we need to do something about it. Second of all it's one of my favorite places in Israel, me and my friends hike there a lot. The view is breathtaking."

fter ten intensive days in Denmark, on the way back to Israel I started to think about what we had done over the past few days. I started to understand what was going on around me, shattering my naïve world, which I believed to be true. If I need to summarize the last ten days in one word, hate would be the word. I've felt like an object of hatred. I was "the Zionist enemy," as one of the Egyptian participants referred to me. "We learn at school about your evil ways and we always treat you and relate to you as the enemy." I wondered why in school in Israel the only bad thing we learn about Egypt is related to the 1973 war at "Yom Kippur," the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, when Egypt and Syria coordinated a surprise attack against Israel.

"I was the Israeli, the occupier, the murderer, the soldier, the aggressor. My identity vanished." We never referred to the Egyptian people as our enemy, especially after the peace agreement in 1979 and particularly not in school. Politics are not allowed and I think teaching young children about hate and enemies is not the way to make them better people – on the contrary it will turn them into bitter, hateful, stereotyping adults. As the days passed by in the small suburb in Denmark, I felt the hatred intensify from a big part of the group. While I can't generalize and say all the Arabs in the seminar hated me, as a minority, I felt hated. I was the

Israeli, the occupier, the murderer, the soldier, the aggressor. My identity vanished; they didn't treat me as a person but as a symbol. I was the object they could take out their aggression on. As one of them said to me: "I want to go back to my home in Jaffa, can you give me my home back?” Well, can I? Can I, as an individual, change the world? The moment I felt I couldn't cope with this anymore was when I met the Yemen people. "I have to be honest with you," a beautiful Yemen woman that was covered from head to toe told me,

“I hate Israelis. We in Yemen pray that all the Israelis will die; we are attending prayers and wishing that Israel will vanish." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I looked in her eyes and all I could see was ignorance and hate. I tried talking sense to her but I couldn't reach her. It was like a black curtain was blocking her eyes and her mind. What could I say? That in Israel we adore the Yemen culture, their food, their warm and kind nature? In Israel’s multicultural society we have so many different ethnic groups and some of them are from Muslim countries. Hate, ignorance, brainwashing, and stereotypical thinking made them escape from their countries, feeling hated and persecuted. If I could summarize my insights from this experience in a few words I would say: don't hate, try to know your "enemy." Try to rely on facts, not on stereotypes, and maybe you will see things differently. I believe that maybe after ten days in the "pressure cooker" some of this hate disappeared. “The others,” the Arab participants who grew up in a hateful society that is teaching children the word "hate" instead of teaching them about tolerance and accepting the "other," hopefully met and confronted the "Zionist enemy," and realized we are all the same and we all wish for a better future for all of us. Dana Levavy is a 26-year-old Israeli. She studies communication and journlism.

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011

The Rock Still Stays

When my personal freedom is offending yours

he ‘cartoon crisis’ from Denmark has become a new Danish brand. When cultural sensitivity and freedom of speech is debated the drawings come up. For some they represent the right to freedom of speech, but for others they amplify a serious misuse of this freedom and anti-sensitivity. This was also the case during the CB course in August 2008. An argument used by both groups for and against the publishing of the now famous drawings, is that of personal freedom. “It is my right to publish them” or “it is my right to be respected - by not having them published.” Since I returned home I have been thinking of this ongoing helix. How is it possible to ensure the personal freedom of everyone? If my freedom goes to where yours starts, then my freedom is not without limits. The other day I was strolling down the pedestrian street in Copenhagen. Suddenly I noticed something peculiar in a shop window. One of the mannequins was dressed in what looks exactly like the shawl (tal12

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By Kathrine Tschemerinsky Lund-Kirkeby ‘The rock’ was the place where we always met as kids. It has the inscription of our school, and connecting our separate homes to each other it functioned as a natural gathering point. Now we have all left the sleepy town. But even though we have abandoned the old stone, we left it together, and I now see that the suburbia turned out to be the starting point for friendships that have lasted, even though we spent so many years trying to run away.

"I have my own soft spots that can obviously easily be tickled. I guess personal freedom and its limits depend purely on morality." lit) Jewish men use during service in the Synagogue. My first impulse was a strong reservation towards this lame new fashion gimmick with the name ‘Isaack.’ Does everything have to become mainstream commodities available for everyone? I imagined vivid scenarios with fashionable 30-something women bringing ‘Isaack’ to picnics to sit on, throwing it carelessly around their necks on chilly Danish September nights, or even having sex on ‘Isaack’ when the picnic-date becomes just a bit too cozy. Suddenly I stopped myself. Had I finally found a limit of my own? Does it take little more than a white and blue cloth with a name from the old testaments to offend me? My sensitivity surprised me,

How is it possible to ensure the personal freedom of everyone? If my freedom goes to where yours starts, then my freedom is not without limits

but it also raises a very relevant question: I am very much against the idea of monopolizing thoughts, symbols or history, claiming authenticity and by this, truth and essence. But I found myself being a bit provoked by witnessing what is a sacred object for some being used as fashion. On the other hand, I accept that of course the fashion evangelists have the right to remove ‘Isaack’ from its normal use to reinterpret its function. I find it easy being resolute about thoughts of freedom of speech and action. But I have also realized that not even I can keep up an uncompromising attitude towards everything. I have my own soft spots that can obviously easily be tickled. I guess personal freedom and its limits depend purely on morality. The question is, when are you willing to compromise your personal freedom for the sake of other peoples’ wellbeing? Kathrine Tschemerinsky Lund Kirkeby is a 20-year-old Dane. She studies anthropology at Copenhagen University.

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Samira the Astonishing "A look here, a look there and then unquestionable eye contact. She needed fire, so I gave her fire. She lit up her cigarette and took it upon herself to break the ice."

o I was walking on Oranian St. in the heart of what is considered to be the ultimate hip quarter of Berlin - famous Kruezberg. The weather was unexpectedly fair and the streets were crowded with all the young and the beautiful, with their exploding energies and their hungry eyes. This was shortly after I returned from the peaceful countryside of Denmark to the high-voltage life in the sizzling German capital. Berlin is where I chose to spend this dying summer, leaving behind my homeland's sack of troubles, or at least denying it for a while. With a deformed hand-rolled cigarette in the corner of my mouth, wearing a cheap second hand jacket and a wrinkled black tie, I approached a certain trendy bar called “Lucia.” I was still trying to recover from those two intensive weeks in Denmark, seeking refuge in a familiar place to calm my thoughts and soothe my soul. Now, before you call anything else “crossing borders,” you should see this place – a trans-cultural/ national/gender pool of entities gathered in one space. Every table spoke a different language and represented several continents. It

I’m Palestinian. How's that? Oooooh. And I'm Jewish. So we're supposed to kill each other now!” Instead of pulling a gun against her, I pulled a chair to the table and conversed with her at length about art, politics and the pursuit of happiness

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was a celebration of cultures, societies, colors and little me, blending into a beautiful microcosmos. The people around were all sipping their beers as if toasting to the victory of the so-called global village. And there she was, a beautiful young lady with big eyes and an intelligent smile. She, like I, was forced to sit outside with her beer, exiled by the tyranny of the NoSmoking regime. She stood out with her style, and she had lots of it, from her head to her shoes. A look here, a look there and then there was unquestionable eye contact. She needed fire, so I gave her fire. She lit up her cigarette and took it upon herself to break the ice. “Are you Italian?” she asked. “No,” I replied. “Cuban?” “No.” “Spanish?” “No.” “Greek?” “No. Come on, stop it. Are you ready for the answer? I’m Palestinian. How's that?” “Oooooh. And I'm Jewish. So we're supposed to kill each other now!” Instead of pulling a gun against her, I pulled a chair to the table and conversed with her at length about art, politics and the pursuit of happiness. She turned out to be an artist locked in the body of a student of economics, just to please her success-obsessed mother. That reminded me of my own mother, who believes that excellence and above-average personal achievements are the only way for her children to overcome discrimination. That girl's name was no other than Samira. “Sorry to tell you that, dear,” I said, “but that's an Arab name.” She said she knew that, and that her cosmopolitan parents picked the name carefully. Ironically, my name can also be considered a Jewish name. So, meeting a Jewish girl who carries an Arab name in Germany was one of the first experiences after Denmark. It stirred up again all thoughts of how illusive the perception of the “other” can be, and how fluid the forms of identity are. Just when you thought you met all kinds, a new one comes to teach you a valuable lesson about social relativism. At the end of our conversation, a group of Poles and an Austrian joined our table, preparing me for another lesson. Hakim Bishara is a 29-year-old Palestinian. He works as a freelance magazine writer for the newspaper Globes in Tel Aviv.

An Amazing Experience "The importance of these meetings is that you get to know people on a personal level, as human beings, so you care about him/her after. This is what counts."

’m glad I took part in the Crossing Borders Program in Denmark this Summer. It was an amazing experience to get to meet so many different people from different places and to hear about their experiences and get to know them better. I had the opportunity to meet with Danish people, who had a totally different experience than ours, because they are living in a different situation with more tranquility and calm. But still, they have their own problems. I liked the diversity of the Egyptian group of strong women who took part in the project. It was the first time I met people from Yemen and that was extraordinary. I hung out with the Palestinian group and even though I live here in Jerusalem there was still so much to learn. Even when I met the Israeli group I thought it was good to chat, talk, hear and respect each other. I did this kind of programs in the past, but what made this one special is the people. I still remember each one

of the participants. I took so many pictures and I'm going through those pictures almost every day, remembering the nice moments. I have to say that when I was there I didn't realize that I was enjoying it so much, but when I came back here I was like ‘wow, I had a great time.’ I like the way Garba was in charge of things. We gave him a hard time and despite all of this he managed to keep us happy most of the time. We are still in contact. We send emails to each other on a weekly basis. People like to hear from each other—how things are going and how life is treating us. The importance of these meetings is that you get to know people on a personal level, as human beings, so you care about him/her after. This is what counts. All in all it was a good experience and I hope things will develop in a good way between us all. Nidal Rafa is a 32-year-old Palestinian. She is a journalist and a producer with CNN in Palestinian Territories.

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"Al-Haya'n village is situated in Al-odain 270 km to the north of Sana'a. Yemeni farmers have been constructing agricultural terraces for centuries. These terraces, some of the oldest in the world, supply Yemeni households with crops like wheat, barley and coffee."

ConflictSensitive Media Course Needed

here are numerous reasons for the persistent conflicts in the Middle East, and journalism plays a prominent role in feeding the flames. Yemen, in this regard, is no exception. Both official and oppositional media outlets are engaged in local violent conflicts. Since my participation in Crossing Borders' culture sensitive media workshop, I have developed a more critical approach to reporting in my own articles, in those of colleagues and in Yemeni journalism. My experiences in Denmark have drawn my attention to the role of journalism in resolving serious conflicts. Too frequently, Yemen suffers from tribal, political and sectarian conflicts, which have prevented development in certain areas of our country. Whether the conflict is religious like the rebellion in the north, political like demonstrations in the south or tribal-like revenge in tribal areas, it is invariably fomented by Yemeni journalists who prefer fueling hatred and prejudice over attempting to resolve old disagreements. Reading most Yemeni newspapers is frustrating because of the amount of one-sided reporting in its pages. The Yemeni journalists’ use of biased terminology in relation to conflicts is also disconcerting. Emotionally-charged words such as “betrayer,” “separatist,” 16

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"I have developed a more critical approach to reporting regarding my own articles and other Yemeni journalists." “occupier” and “saboteur” frequently appear in their reports. The vast majority of newspapers in Yemen are owned by political parties and tribal sheikhs for whom they act as mouthpieces. Yemeni journalists incite conflict not only inside the country but also on a regional level. Bias in Yemeni media misleads us and pulls us into isolation. Partial reports reinforce and legitimize the stereotypes and misconceptions rampant in our society. Sometimes I think of picking up the telephone to call a journalist whose story is not conflict-sensitive and explaining to him that his approach to writing is wrong. Fortunately, there are a few newspapers that try to correct misperceptions, offer solutions and reconcile parties in conflict, and even more fortunately perhaps, one of these – the Yemen Times – is where I work. However, we still need more objective and peace-oriented journalism. As proven in other countries, good journalism can effectively help to shape fair public opinion and assist in resolving violent disagreements. In order to achieve this, Yemeni journalists need to be trained in conflict-sensitive jour-

nalism. International organizations can help in developing local journalism by teaching Yemeni journalists how to be more objective in their reporting and how to take on a more peaceful role in

As proven in other countries, good journalism can effectively help to shape fair public opinion and assist in resolving violent disagreements their profession, using their writing to resolve instead of foment local conflict. Khaled-Al-Hilaly is a 29-year-old Yemeni. He works as a journalist for the newspaper, Yemen Times.

"My hometown, Ashdod, has an 8 km shoreline. It is in the twilight hours, when the beach is almost free of tourists and the sun is setting, that I feel at peace. The open spaces, the sound of the waves, the slight breeze—my inspiration is at its peak. It’s almost as if Venus is about to emerge from the waves."

Finally on Facebook "It's devastating to know that I can't talk to my new friends from the West Bank in person. So many blocks, physical and perceptual, are standing in the way of us meeting again."

first heard of Facebook, the trendy web site that connects people from all over the globe, about a year ago. For one year all of my friends pressured me to join the masses. But, stubborn as I am, I refused to let my social life become computerized. The faces of the people I know shouldn't be on a book, or on a screen. The words that they say should be said in their own personal voices and not all in the same computer font. On the last day of the Danish experience, I joined Facebook. I lifted my arms up high and surrendered. That’s how I stopped fearing and started loving this thing. It was hard to leave Vallekilde and the people I met there. Like a rollercoaster ride, the first days started slowly and safely, then the tension rose until the first fall. The encounters with the other perspectives on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, as reflected in the different terminology, were a kick in the face for me. The use of the word "martyr" instead of "terrorist" is just one example.   The next part, the next hill, was getting to know the faces behind the words,

and trying to understand the sources of their points of view while explaining my own. It was the best part of the twoweek gathering. I met incredible people – sharp, intelligent, funny, and unique. I also learned about other cultures, habits, customs and histories. The final phase was the hardest one, the knock-out. It was time to say goodbye. It's devastating to know that I can't talk to my new friends from the West Bank in person. The distance between my city in Israel and Ramallah is similar to the one between the pastoral Vallekilde to the vibrant Copenhagen (about an hour and a half ’s drive). But so many blocks, physical and perceptual, are standing in the way of us meeting again. Can I pass the borders? Will the locals welcome me freely? Would I be safe there, and are they safe here? What about my new Danish friends? And the Jordanians, Egyptians and sweet participants from Yemen? We talked constantly without any communication disturbances, at least not ones that couldn’t be overcome over a cup of coffee. And now there is this

distance, and there is the routine of everyday tasks that stands in the way. "I can't talk right now because I'm doing a paper for my studies and it is urgent,” says one. The morning assembly is over. Vallekilde was a like different galaxy. Or should I say a utopia? Since communication has been difficult since leaving Denmark, the web has become the only solution for crossing some borders. I am not advertising Facebook, and still hate the fact that instead of real faces I am looking at photo representations. Even so, it`s still good to know that someone is getting married, the other got her degree and everyone is safe and smiling. I guess it’s the most insignificant thing I acquired in the Crossing Borders seminar and yet, it may be the most notable one – communicating despite the boundaries. Hopefully, sometime soon, I will despise Facebook again, and we can all meet freely, in person. Meir ‘Miki’ Levy is a 27-year-old Israeli. He studies communication and journalism at Sapir College and writes for the college newspaper, Spirala.

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THE CORNER "I am sitting on the edge of our farm house in the outskirts of Amman, looking past my present and into the greeneries of the hills of Palestine on the other side. I am separated from Palestine physically, but the land is there, existing, right in front of my eyes. I am suspended between land and sky, and in equilibrium, my writer self has found herself in the perfect location, never grounded, always afloat..."

nything else you need?” he asks. All participating journalists are walking through the ruthless cold and into one of Copenhagen’s markets adorned with flashing lights of omnipresent chaos. Someone please tell me what I need. “You,” I think, but I say “shampoo.” I turn and he is gone. Not in this aisle, nor the next. Off with a purpose in some far corridor, probably picking up wine for the night. He always did seem to have a destination, some reason for being in one place or moving to another. In the murk between the past and the future, I am paralyzed by uncertainty, easily distracted, eternally lost in the moment. Reflecting back on the events of the seminar, I wished I could be as confident in my representation as others were, but my thoughts crippled me. While some journalists were loud and clear about their stance in the conflict during the seminar, my Jordanian self, torn between ideals of Nationalism, Arabism, Peace and Conflict Resolution, and pure Common Sense, fought another internal raging war. Chasing his shadow, uncovering aisle upon aisle upon aisle, I try to find what I most urgently needed, especially since it has been five days since my suitcases were 18

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"Reflecting back on the events of the seminar, I wished I could be as confident in my representation as others were, but my thoughts crippled me." declared lost somewhere during my connecting flight between Amman and Frankfurt (due to labor strikes, of course, which, ironically, I supported). Many years of “Vogue” patriotism and color-fabric-style coordination, mixed with two Anne Klein suits and Cavalli perfumery are snickering at the consumer self I unconsciously have become. I am always intimidated by these chemical-yet-seemingly vital displays, this saturation of products thrust at me in kaleidoscope vision. The world is burdensome enough as it is, I think. How will I ever uncover anything meaningful with so many bottles of foreign-labeled shampoos? Take it easy now... A child is dying of neglect and hunger somewhere in the Savannah dust, eyes glaring, belly bloated; the land is dying in the hands of the powerful, the fortified wall is standing tall and here I stand, my life stuck to a halt, until I choose: volume or extra shine? I choose extra shine. What brings all of us journalists here, and what is it about this place that makes me feel so confused? Participating

Palestinians and Israelis compliment each other in their struggle for identity and do not even realize it, while Egyptians have more internal policies that they wish to change. The Danes are still learning about our conflict while fighting for Socialist movements and the “social experiment” of Christiania. The Jordanians, whom by default are the smallest group, are underrepresented, yet we felt vital to the group with our social events, alumni follow up ideas and “fish bowl” communication initiatives. I felt more confused when one of my fellow Jordanian journalists constantly struggled in identifying himself, as his identity metamorphosed from “Jordanian” to “Jordanian of Palestinian origins” to “Palestinian Refugee living in Jordan” as the days went by. In my mind, they are all carriers of information, future reporters of the conflict. They are pistons, rotors, shoots, leaves, xylems and phloem, in this organism, this systematic machine in which some belong (while others watch). They are input, they are output. They are Visuals and Audios for the world. But for me, stuck on Mute,

it did not matter much to identify myself in the geographical or racial or political sense, or take full responsibility to be a representative of my country and voice myself as politicians and world leaders, as much as it did to fully allow the experience to engulf me into its senses and help me find myself. The questions still remains; Where do I fit in? What is my function? I follow him. He is out of sight, but I feel the labyrinth of the floor quivering beneath his tiptoe movement. He is no more part of the mechanism than I, but somehow, innately, he somehow knows this maze. I move within, I move along. It becomes equally possible that what I have been chasing after for 24 years is not reality itself. Out of sight, I find myself wondering if realistically, beyond my traditional and idealistic reach, does he even exist at all, or is it my own reflection that I have been pursuing all along? During my labyrinth, sometimes at the markets, or in the classrooms, or at the lunch table and especially at the pebbled courtyard of Vallekilde where I would find a corner and smoke a cigarette walking the area back and forth, I allowed my thoughts to freely process in observation of the promising yet struggling youth of the region voicing their experiences. I kept searching for a sign of self-identity, a queue where I would stand and make sense of everything, the conflict, the suffering, the disillusions, the fairness of it all. Turning, turning, deeper into the corner, through alleys of pursuit, in this haze I walk onwards. Only now, at this moment, does the notion enter my mind that perhaps I have always been at the center, that it is indeed the labyrinth, which is turning around me, rather than the reverse. I take a look around me, and standing near me are the other journalists, each centered upon the cores of their beings. After 12 days, it was time to return to my breathing space, time to return home. I packed him with me, this time, in the carry-on, of course. No longer searching for the truth, no longer searching for its shadows, he has always been central, by my side, and not lurking somewhere in this corner, or the next. Muna Samawi is a 24-year-old Jordanian. She is a programme coordinator for the Jordan Career Education Foundation.

Elad Morad

Israeli. Participant in Crossing Borders Youth Coordinators course since 2008

Sometimes small change leads to bigger change, Crossing Borders gave me the tools to make lots of small changes.

Ashera Ramadan

Palestinian. 23. Participant in CB since 2007. A ‘veteran’ – she has been part of the NGO since she was 16. She is now studying journalism and media in Cyprus.

Crossing Borders has taught me a lot about the conflict and ‘the other side’. It has given me the hope that maybe one day people can let go of their differences and the hate they have and decide to move forward and work together to bring justice to everyone. It has definitely been a challenging experience for me but it also opened my eyes to what I want to be in my life. I want to be a journalist who gives a voice to the voiceless and changes peoples’ perceptions of what is right and what is wrong.

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Fifteen minutes of ‘special treatment’

Ghassan Nicola Khoury Jordanian, 22. Medical student – on his fifth year. Part of CB since 2006

CB has opened a new horizon for me. I got a better understanding of the world as a whole, I learned a lot about many different cultures, about being tolerant and about accepting people for who they are. I learned not to pass judgment on any individual no matter what. This is what I trully learned, & I thank everyone who made it possible...

"A butterfly farm in Beer-sheva. I like this place because it is interesting to see a butterfly be born and fly free everywhere. This image is important to me because I want to be free – like the butterfly.”

"I have told people who are interested in my experience that the Arab people are just people like us. They have ears, eyes, two arms and two legs. They have thoughts, humor and feelings."

t's always hard to say goodbye to friends, and I had to do that after a short and intensive meeting in Denmark. But all starts have endings. Me and my new Palestinian friends came from the cold weather in Scandinavia back to warm, sauna-like Israel. We walked side by side in the vast Israeli airport. When we came to customs, the Palestinians were taken to a faraway ‘check room,’ where their luggage was searched before they re-entered Israel. I decided to stick to my new friends and take part in this event, so I, too, went to the "special room" because of my friendship with the Palestinians. It was a short walk to this room and it was a little bit worrying. The security girl that checked us was nice. She offered us coffee, but we didn't take it. She told us to put our luggage on the Roentgen machine, and after 15 minutes of "special treatment," we were released from this weird room. After that kind of expe20

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rience, I'm suggesting that Palestinians never go to this room alone, because it's unpleasant to be in a "special room" by your self. Try to go, to the faraway room together. The first question I was asked by my Israeli colleagues was, "how was it there?" and I described the whole 10 days of lectures, dialogues and parties. I explained about my experience with people that live near us, with whom we share borders. It was the first time I actually defended the Palestinian people. I explained that they have some wonderful individuals. The ones I met know a lot besides the term "Occupation," which I heard so much in the first 2 days of this seminar. But in another 8 days we talked, laughed and cooperated at the discussions. I have told people who are interested in my experience that the

Arab people are just people like us. They have ears, eyes, two arms and two legs. They have thoughts, humor and feelings. I hope the Arab people that came to be my friends are thinking the same things about me. What is going to happen now, after the intensive Danish laboratory? Will we stay friends or at least keep in touch? I hope we will continue to be friends from the friendship that was born in Denmark. We have another meeting in November, in some other place in the world. I just can't wait to see those wonderful people again, and make interesting conversation over a bottle of beer. Mark Shulman is a 27-year-old Israeli. He studies communication and journalism at Sapir College.

Razan Wazwaz

Palestinian. 21. Participant of CB since 2007. Has been in two CB Courses.

Being part of Crossing Borders was a great experience for me, because I got the chance to meet wonderful friends through it and gained a lot of experience. I especially enjoyed getting the chance to be part of the internship in cooperation with the Daniel Pearl Foundation: My internship was at Radio RAM FM in Ramallah, and the media skills I got from them and CB were helpful enough to make me realize that I want to study Media.

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Lasse Volfing Danish. 18. Senior year in highschool. Has been a part of CB since 2007.

Choose it or lose it "M ood is a relatively long lasting, affective or emotional state." This was the first explanation I got when I 'googled' the word "mood.” The thing that I've been wondering about lately is what it is about mood that everyone is so concerned about? "Good mood," "bad mood," "think positive" and many of these terms have, unquestionably, gathered momentum in the last five years. With the wave of "you choose to be happy and enjoy the moment" courses and the "Choose your mood every morning" sessions, one must take a minute to think about it: is mood really as effective and dominant as they claim it to be or is it just a profitable trend? Don't worry, I don't intend on opening a boring psychology-versus-economics discussion, but I do want to explain it through a short story that took place in Vallekilde, Denmark between August 3rd and 14th, 2008. Exhausted after two flights and two trains, counting the minutes to get to our destination, I found myself talking to a young Jordanian man wearing a black suit. He had lost his luggage and was actually excited about it! He kept telling me, "why should it affect my mood? I should consider it part of the adventure.” The worn-out me en22

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"My mood is now affected by one thing — anticipating the meeting in November." couraged him, agreeing that this was a very healthy way of thinking about the situation. Though honestly, I would've flipped out if I had lost my luggage, not knowing when I’d have all of my shoes back. In fact, the notion of wearing that suit for even one more day would've disturbed me; maybe that’s more an issue of my female hormones and genes rather than a mood issue. During our stay there, I met several people who continuously repeated the same sentence: "The calm atmosphere absolutely contributes to the good mood I'm in." At first, I didn't pay that much attention to the repetition of it. However, after a week or so, I reached a point in which I was convinced that my mood was affected by the surroundings. The difference between whether I'm in a good mood or why someone else isn't may be the surroundings or the atmosphere. Yet, it all comes back to one thing: the definition of surroundings – is it the people or the view? Was it the parties every night or the walks we took everyday? Or maybe it as the fact that we were so far from home and everything was new to us? If I was asked before the seminar, I

would've said that my mood was all about me – what I want to think about and how I feel in a specific day. Now more than two weeks have passed since I got back home and I couldn't be surer that it's all about the "surroundings," which in my case have proven to be an integral element in shaping my mood. To make the matter crystal clear, I'm not talking about the view or the green fields, or the fresh air of Vallekilde nor the smell of the rain in the middle of Copenhagen; I'm talking about the mood of the people surrounding me. For me, during those magical (seriously it was like a fairytale) two weeks, when it came to my mood it was all about that smile that came all the way from Egypt, the strength that burst everyday raising the voice of Palestine, the hope that traveled from Israel, the depth that was sent with love from Jordan and Denmark’s calmness that we were immersed in. My mood is now affected by one thing - anticipating the meeting in November. It is one meeting in which I get to meet all the essential ingredients of my "mood" cake. I never choose its taste but I'm confident that I won't ever forget it.

Crossing Borders gave me the

opportunity to cross borders, not just physically but also mentally. It opened my eyes to

For me, during those magical (seriously it was like a fairytale) two weeks, when it came to my mood it was all about that smile that came all the way from Egypt, the strength that burst everyday raising the voice of Palestine, the hope that traveled from Israel, the depth that was sent with love from Jordan and Denmark’s calmness that we were immersed in Qamar Daher is a 21-year-old Palestinian. She studies communication disorders, audiology and speech therapy.

other cultures and religions.

Omar Al-Hadidi

Jordanian. 23. Studies engineering at Amman University. Has participated in CB since2004.

CB gave me the needed open-mindedness to listen to ‘the other side’ and put myself in their shoes in order to get closer to a common point of view. Now as a youth and in the future as a leader on any scale… I've recognized that dialogue is the key to peace - as naive as it may sound. Dialogue is the bridge to the safe shore, to friendship. And human relations make this dialogue easier. cb magazine vol. 9 edition no. 37

Sharon Ringel Israeli. 27. Has attended 3 CB journalism courses since 2007.

DIFFICULT TO BE OPEN-MINDED

t first, I was shocked. “She is going to be my annoyance in this course,” I thought. Constantly interrupting, she rambled on about what her fellow Palestinians really meant, acting like a selfappointed spokesperson. “This is going to be two LONG weeks,” I told myself, immediately finding a cultural explanation: “She is an Arab, and they are very loud.” Not only did this explain her behavior, it comforted me in a strange way. Now I just had to break the cultural code to find out why she acted like an unrestrained foghorn with legs. At this point I didn’t even consider the fact that the room was full of Arabs who did not shout or gesticulate like madmen. I had expected to learn about media and journalism in the Middle East. Indeed, the headline of the Crossing Borders course at Vallekilde was “media skills,” and I expected little else. Of course, I had wondered how the encounter with a large group of strangers from other cultures would be – what would they look like, how would they be and so 24

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"However, the most important thing I learned was not about other people. It was about me – how I use prejudices to structuralize the unknown, to make the unfamiliar familiar." on. However, the most important thing I learned was not about other people. It was about me – how I use prejudices to structuralize the unknown, to make the unfamiliar familiar. In an Arabic context, I reasoned, the aggressive and rough style described above was perhaps the norm, and therefore I should not react to it. The first two days I only heard the loud woman speak in plenum and it did not change my impression of her. I had serious doubts that, even considering her cultural background, she would be able to listen to reason – if reason contradicted her point of view. However, on the third day, she and I were put in the same workgroup. I was reluctant at first, but it quickly became clear that she was very nuanced and knowledgeable. And I

was frightened. Not because she was different than I had expected, but because I had judged her in advance and then, when I acknowledged this, instead of correcting the error by communicating with her, I used my cultural prejudices to satisfy my need for coherence. During the course I could not really put my experience into perspective. Now it seems to me that what I learned through this and similar experiences at Vallekilde was that, despite my intellectual attempts at being open-minded, I often explain basic individual differences with cultural difference. Getting to know one’s self better is not an easy process, and it has been a disturbing experience for me to acknowledge that my political and intellectual views are no remedy against prejudice.

CB gave me the opportunity to see, to hear and to touch the other side. Through the communications skills that I've learned, the journalism tools that I acquired and especially the friendly and warm people that I've met. During the seminars I attended, I've learned that peace is reachable.

Now it seems to me that what I learned through this and similar experiences at Vallekilde was that, despite my intellectual attempts at being open-minded, I often explain basic individual differences with cultural difference Bjarke Hartmeyer Christiansen is a 26-yearold Dane and is currently living in Ramallah. He studies journalism at the university RUC.

Amna Shah

Danish. 19. About to study medicine. Has participated in CB since 2007. CB has made a huge positive impression on me, as I have broadened my horizon by getting to know different cultures & religions! But what really matters is that I got to know some people that I'm really good friends with today. So CB is not only an intellectual experience – it’s also a big social get-together.

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The location of the pictures is : Mount Tabor "Mount Tabor is a hill rising 500m above the ‘Marj Eben Ameer’ Valley in the region of Galilee. Due to its strategic location along the north-south road, it has been an important fortress since ancient times. Christians have identified a rock atop Mt. Tabor as the place of the Transfiguration of Christ since the 4th century AD. My village Dabburiya is located at the foot of the Mt. Tabor, so is my high school. I used to come to this spot often, especially after exams. Here I smoked my first (and last) cigarette with my friend who died a year later. This place gives me the feeling of flying - that the sky is the limit. And in fact, a lot of people do come to this very spot on the mountain to fly. "

Dialogue and the darkness of cultural misconception

nstead of cursing the darkness, light a candle." With these words of wisdom, I conclude my impression of the Crossing Borders Media Skills for Dialogue Course. My strong belief in humanity makes me cross the phantasmal borders which have been implanted by stereotypes and pre-conceived ideas. I honestly believe that every person has both elements: good and evil. There are specific circumstances that enhance these elements; either a person develops a good personality or an evil one. And I despise the prejudicial ideas that a person is evil just because he belongs to a certain group of people or he's of one gender or another. When I decided to head to Denmark, I heard much criticism: “How dare you travel to the same country that has offended Islam and Muslims? Aren't you afraid of wearing the veil and getting hurt in Denmark?” Nevertheless, my experiences with people of many societies have made me aware of the fact that generalizing is wrong and stereotypes are misleading. My belief is that one should light a candle instead of cursing the darkness, which is what convinced me to pack my bags and take the trip to Denmark. I wanted to kindle the flame of dialogue rather than feed the darkness of cultural misconception. In Denmark, I expected to meet exceptional people, especially those who initiated this important journalistic program. Indeed, that is what happened. I had other expectations regarding the Danes mainly because of the way I dress, which characterizes me as 26

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"Instead of cursing the darkness, we should light candles."

a Muslim girl. I thought I'd hear curses or criticism when walking in the streets of Copenhagen. However, I was proven wrong and quite the opposite has happened. Even more, they were friendly and approached me. I did meet a few who refused to hear me speak when I was in Tivoli Park, but overall the Danes were willing to offer their help and they all spoke in English. All of the land was covered with “the green shawl” with drops of rain calmly touching it, as if they were whispering in the ear of the grass, telling it the 'news' of the sky and that the arrogant sun refuses to set. The nature of Denmark is astonishing. I arrived to a town called "Vallikilde" which is a country region close to the shore. There I met journalists who have taken upon themselves the responsibility of humanity and spreading the language of dialogue in the shade of cultural misconception. This encounter has added tremendously added to my experience. I reflected on my work as a journalist, because the program included significant sessions and workshops, in addition to meetings with major journalists working the media. In spite of the disagreements and the political and cultural collisions, friendships and acquaintances evolved between all journalists involved. The most important day I had was when I visited the major newspaper "Politiken" and the Danish Radio and

Television station. I was thrilled to spend the day in the huge studios with a staff of exquisite workers. We met the radio broadcaster and producer Mads Hoisgaard Jorgensen, and most of all I was pleased to meet Dr. Karin Mathes, who told us a lot about the work in a radio station. I was really interested in the kind of work Dr. Karin does. His job is to listen to radio listeners’ complaints, feedback and suggestions for the program. This special day was the best of my stay in Denmark. I also wandered in the old city of Copenhagen, then moved to the west side, to a part called "Christiania" which its residents are considered to be independent and do not rely on the Danish government for their own reasons. At the end of the day, we had a boat tour, where we allowed our laughs and chuckles to merge with the sound of sea. Cameras flashed, documenting the moment, while the rain made the whole group feel like "singing the rain..." All of the stereotypes I had were swept away, then it hit me! Instead of cursing the darkness we should light candles. We as journalists should light the shadows of cultural misconception. Negative notions fell apart in the face of the group's will to build human relations –a much higher aim. Inas Mraih is a Palestinian. She works as a journalist for the Arabic newspaper, Má Alhadath.

MEETING 'FAHRIYYA'

akhria is a young, beautiful Yemeni woman that I met at the Crossing Borders program. She is 26 and works at the forum of Yemeni women journalists. Although both of us work in the media field and both of us are Arab women, I’m pretty sure that we wouldn’t have had the chance to meet if not for the Crossing Border program. Garba, the director of Crossing Borders, initially called her ‘Fahriyya’ (pronouncing her name with an ‘h’ instead of ‘kh’). The first time I heard him calling her this, I saw her reaction to his mispronouncing her name, which was a big smile! I thought to myself, ‘wow, she is so positive!’ Her reaction was very different from what I expected. I thought that maybe she would be angry about the mispronunciation or even nervous about it. I felt I should talk to her more. And in memory of how we came to meet, from now on I call her ‘Fahriyya’.’ I felt very lucky when I learned that her room would be in front of mine. Finally I would have the opportunity to speak to an Arab woman from Yemen, a pos-

"I learned that Yemeni women are not necessarily chained to constraints of poverty, illiteracy or gender." sibility that I had no chance of experiencing living as a Palestinian in Israel all my life. I felt that meeting her would be a great opportunity for me to discuss all of the material that I had read about the situation of women there, particularly the concerns of dealing with a patriarchal society. Accordingly, I prepared several questions in my head, being careful not to jump into very personal questions too early on. When I first saw Fakhria, I thought that I would be meeting another “Amina.” Amina is the name of a film (directed by Khadiga Slaima) that takes its name from its principal character, a young Yemeni woman. Amina was forced to deal with the daily issues of poverty, illiteracy and discrimination that were common to other Yemeni women. But in Fakhria, I didn’t find Amina. Instead, I found something so different, so interesting. Fakhria showed me that Yemeni women

are educated. They are not just “Aminas.” They are also open-minded, and in their own way, they are balancing between being Muslim women and being modern. This challenges the mainstream notion that the two characteristics are essentially incompatible. For Fakhria, being modern is not evident in how you look, but in how you deal with the issues around you. A lot of people will say that she is alone and that she represents herself only. To me and to the world, women like Fakhria exist in Yemen, even if she is considered an ‘exception’ to the media stereotype. In knowing Fakhria I learned that Yemeni women are not of one color. And in speaking to her, I learned that Yemeni women are not necessarily chained to the constraints of poverty, illiteracy and gender discrimination. Kholod Massalha is a 29-year-old Palestinian. She works for the media center Ilam – a Palestinian NGO.

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BACK TO REALITY C

oming back home, how could I translate two intensive weeks of talks about the conflict into reality? From the moment I landed in Jerusalem, the fascinating views of Denmark changed dramatically into completely different scenes: on one hand, a massive separation wall blazing under the extreme heat of the Middle East, and on the other hand, bulldozers working on the streets, threatening to become killer machines intended to kill Israelis at any moment. When we landed at Tel-Aviv airport, Jihan was taken into an investigation room, while I passed smoothly, afraid only that the tax inspector would notice that I’d brought too many bottles of alcohol. After I rested a bit, I felt a strong need to forget about the conflict and to stop dealing with its aspects. Those two weeks made me feel really bad and in some ways, even encouraged apathy toward the conflict. During those two weeks, I felt many people still looked at me only as an evil occupier. I, Doron, 25 years old, who came to Denmark in order to change the reality, became in the peoples’ mind, account-

» "In the south of israel there are amazing open spaces where the silence is ruling. The sun is the only one who has the power to change the view, to play with the shadows of those amazing mountains. This is a view you won’t find in Denmark, not even in the wild Norway." 28

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"From the moment I landed in Jerusalem, the fascinating views of Denmark changed dramatically into completely different scenes." able for all of the problems of Palestinian society. I felt like I carried the occupation, the settlements, the check-points and the terror all on my shoulders. Sorry, we can’t say terror: it’s “only” an innocent struggle for freedom, right? Some others less directly connected to the conflict seemed to see me as a potential security agent, who when asking for their photos for my Facebook profile thought I might be serving the intelligence needs of Israel. Somehow, this conference made me much

more strict and tough during its duration. I came to listen and I found myself mostly talking. I came to speak and most of the time I shouted. It seems to me that the pastoral layers of Denmark didn’t serve their aim in my case. Maybe dealing with the reality on the ground makes me want, more than ever, for peace to come. Amen. Doron Bar-Gil is a 25-year-old Israeli. He works as a political journalist for the daily, Maariv Newspaper.

"The bombed village of Sederot, only a half-hour from my village, is a completely different world, where the fear of Quassam missiles fired from the Gaza Strip rules. My friends and I went there to help the people and make their lives nicer by cleaning and painting."

Somehow, this conference made me much more strict and tough during its duration. I came to listen and I found myself mostly talking. I came to speak and most of the time I shouted. cb magazine vol. 9 edition no. 37

Eliran Luzon Just

Israeli, 20. Culture Officer in the IDF. Has participated in 4 CB seminars in Denmark, Turkey and Germany

CB has been the most amazing and meaningful experience in my whole life. Through it, I've opened my mind, earned my best friends 'till today and joined the Israeli army as an officer spreading the word about this project which I am so proud to be a part of.

Dilay Fener Danish. 20. Studies medicine. Has been a part of CB for two years.

Crossing Borders has made it possible for me to learn a lot of new things and see things in another perspective. And thanks to CB I have expanded my network and gotten to know some of the greatest people in my life.

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Another Day at the Beach? "Life under occupation creates massive amounts of problems. Problems I can’t even begin to comprehend as a Dane." The sun is shining in an almost clear blue sky. The temperature is heading well over 30 degrees. The streets are quiet, most people staying in their homes surrounded by friends, family and good food, celebrating their religious holidays – Eid al Fitr and Rosh Hashanah, coincidentally on the exact same days this year. We are young, careless and longing for the salty waters of the Mediterranean Sea and the feeling of sand under our feet. Two adventurous Danes, and a Palestinian holding a Jerusalem ID. The latter one being so lucky, that he has his parent’s car for the day. There is nothing between us and the beautiful sandy beaches than the road ahead of us. Well, other than three military checkpoints, that is. What starts out to be the outlooks of a great carefree day, where our biggest problem is whether we’ll be able to find a shop selling beer during the holidays, turns out to be such a hassle that it overshadows my few hours of sun on the beach of Tel Aviv. “Welcome to Palestine” my friend, and designated driver for the day, cynically remarks. And now I understand what he means. I didn’t before coming here. In search of normality Searching for an easy way to get to the

beach became a bigger deal than I had thought. The signs of occupation are so evident everywhere, that even if you try your very best, you cannot escape the fact that there is no normality here in this very holy land. The few, but divine hours of peace on the beach almost made me overlook our trip to Tel Aviv. But before I knew it the sun was setting and we had to make our way back. Once again we were driving alongside the suffocating “Safety Barrier/Wall”, making its ruthless way through fields, villages and mountains. Again passing several checkpoints on our way. And finally, just as I thought we had made it back, we were stuck at a checkpoint that had been closed. We never found out why. I still don’t know. Almost three hours of waiting built up frustrations. Impatience grew in me, while my Palestinian friend had a frightening calmness in his eyes. He is used to these things. This is reality for him as well as for many others. But as an outsider, I see no normality here. Life under occupation creates massive amounts of problems. Problems I can’t even begin to comprehend as a Dane, just being here for a short while, before returning back to the safety and peace of Wonderful Copenhagen – my hometown. I could talk about the wounds, the pain, the orphans, the harsh reality of lacking water and basic needs, the destruction of hundreds of villages, the barriers isolating farmers from their land. But talking about the lack of normality, a life without worry, without restrictions of movement as a human right is something everyone can understand. Whether being from Denmark, Palestine or anywhere else in the world. Some of my new friends here talk about the beach and the ocean as though it is heaven on earth – an unreachable place, so close, that on a clear day standing on a hill top outside Ramallah you can actually see the Mediterranean Sea. But it is so difficult for them to reach. Maybe a three hours wait at a checkpoint isn’t so bad after all? And that day on the beach was in fact very nice. Naimah Hussain is a 25-year-old Dane. She is studying Journalism at the Danish university RUC and is currently living in Ramallah.

A Priceless Experience "I am back in Amman and I still remember every single day we all had there." At first, the Crossing Borders course in lovely isolated Vallekilde seemed tiring, unorganised and not meeting the expectations I had. But now, back in Amman, I am certain that the course and the whole trip was absolutely worthwhile, beyond any doubt. The trip started with a few hours of delay in the flight from Amman. Later, the bus at the Copenhagen airport left us because we were late due to the airport losing some suitcases – including mine. I felt depressed and I asked myself, "Is this really worth it?” I was uncomfortable. At the Copenhagen airport, I snuck a peek of the CB participants, trying to determine who was who. Then we left to Vallekilde, a folk high school founded in 1865. We got there and I said I did not like the place because it was too remote. Then time started to pass and I started to feel the experience of being in the CB course. I gained a lot from the bunch of interesting characters who were taking part in the course. A ll of us lived together 24 hours each day for 10 nights, learning together, discussing issues together, playing together and even cleaning dishes together. The experience with the participants, the memories, the relations and the friendships I built are all great benefits of the course. The course was an eye-opening one, not in terms of learning media skills but in terms of having the chance to know “the other.” It was good to learn how others think of me, my life, my history, my issues as a Palestinian refugee who lives far away from his occupied homeland, Palestine. I am back in Amman and I still remember every single day we all had there, the discussions we had, all the anger that we let out, all the laughs we had and even the jokes we cracked. Priceless is the word to describe my experience with the people at the course. Was it worth it? Absolutely. Meeting the people in the course is what made it so. Though the course needs some more depth, organisation and focus in its agenda, I still appreciate being a participant in it. These were the words that were crossing my mind the whole time at the airport when heading back to Amman. The people I met, many of whom are my friends now, will stay in my life for the rest of it. Usually in formal trips and training courses, relations end quite soon afterward, but for this one I am certain the relations I built are permanent. Mohammad Ghazal is a 25-year-old Jordanian. He works as a journalist for local and regional media.

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DEMENA MS Danish Association for International Co-operation

BE T ! N I HE FIRST TO JO

People today live in a networked world. The borders of our lives are no longer limited to our home towns, regions or countries. Our connections spread across the world. Our online emails and chat and social networking contacts spans the globe. The people we care about are no longer confined to those we see every day.

Become active in CB by becoming a member, voluntary and/or writer. Annual membership is 150 DKK, 200 DKK for a family, 100 DKK for students. Institutions and companies are welcome to support CB activities at their own discretion.

As a member, you will receive the CB magazine sent to your private address, be invited to CB arrangements and courses and above all support a meaningful dialogue within the Middle East and across the Euromed region.