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March
A Cheap Holiday in Other People's Misery (catching
up with Mordechai Vanunu in Israel)
One of my favourite pieces of music is the Sex
Pistols' classic 'Holidays in the Sun' - a song
that begins with the line, 'a cheap holiday in
other people's misery'. This would have made a
fitting epitaph for my holiday in Israel, except
that the $3000 air ticket meant that it wasn't
exactly cheap.
I went to Israel full of apprehension. Just
knowing what we all know of the backdrop of
paranoia and pain that hangs over that land is
enough to make anybody apprehensive, but I also
went carrying a dark secret - that I was a friend
of Mordechai Vanunu's, and I was nervous about the
reaction I'd get should this truth suddenly become
public.
My friend Morde was completing an 18-year prison
sentence for doing something that most people in
this country consider heroic. Morde told the world
about a secret stash of WMD's ('weapons of mass
destruction') that are being developed in an
underground factory in the Negev desert. Most
people I know think he did the world an enormous
favour, but most people in his own country wish
Morde had kept his mouth shut. Indeed, most
Israelis regard him as a traitor!
In order to try to understand this attitude
towards my friend, I tried talking to local people
about their attitude to nuclear weapons. The
response I received was alarming! "They're only
there as our last resort" one articulate young
journalist said to me. "Just in case we get
completely overrun." "Well ... what happens then?"
I asked. "Well", he said, "then we destroy
everybody!"
Tragically, this was not an isolated example.
Almost every time I sought an opinion from
taxi-drivers, cafe workers or hostel staff
concerning Israel's nuclear capacity, the word
'Armageddon' would come up. And these apologists
seemed quite accepting of the fact that in order to
strike this decisive blow against their neighbours,
they might indeed need to take the rest of the
planet with them!
Thankfully not every Israeli took this position.
Indeed, the 'Free Vanunu' campaign itself had a
strong local contingent of active peace
campaigners.
These local activists were some of the most
impressive people I met during my stay in Israel.
Even in Australia they would have been impressive -
mainly young, idealistic University students, with
a commitment to world peace and global disarmament
- impressive but not extraordinary in our context.
In this context though, growing up in an
environment so overshadowed by violence and fear,
these brave young souls stood out like shining
lights.
The violent side of Israeli culture was never
more tangible to me than it was on the day of
Morde's release. I had traveled many thousands of
miles to be reunited with my friend on the day that
he walked free. In my dreams I had imagined our
reunion countless times. Morde would walk through
those gates with his belongings in one hand, and me
and a few friends and family would be there to
embrace him and lead him away. I didn't really
realise until I reached the prison just how far
from reality my imaginary depiction of that scene
would prove to be.
There were hundreds of us at the prison, and the
vast majority were not Morde's friends. As the time
of his release drew near, I tried to move towards
the prison gate where I had always imagined myself
standing as Morde walked out. I soon found myself
squeezed into the middle of an angry mob.
It was certainly one of the nastiest experiences
of my life. The whole mass of men seemed to seethe
with aggression, and each individual was competing
to claw his way to the front, for what exact
purpose was not entirely clear. Thankfully I could
not understand the chants that were being sung to
the tune of 'here we go, here we go, here we go',
but I was told later that the words for 'death' and
'traitor' had been central to all the mantras that
were chanted that day.
On reflection I now think that it was a good
thing that by the time Morde came through those
prison gates the police had packed us together so
tightly that I wasn't able to move a limb. What
prevented me from running out to embrace Morde also
prevented my neighbours from reaching him with more
sinister intent.
Thankfully the car with my friend in it got away
with no more than a dented panel and a shower of
eggs. One antagonist did manage to mount his
motorbike in time to catch the car, but after
slamming into the side of the vehicle he lost his
mount, and the 'free man' was able to proceed in
peace.
Back at the gaol things then started to unravel.
With their anger unresolved, the mob started to
vent their aggression on other targets. I found
myself swept up in this like a wave breaking over
my head. One second I was walking towards my bus.
The next moment I was surrounded by a mob led by an
angry rabbi, screaming at the top of his voice. 'Go
home' was the only phrase I could understand.
Equally unambiguous though were the rough hands
that were being placed on my body, the kicks that
were landing on my legs, and the spittle that was
accumulating on my face.
I didn't see any path of escape in this
situation, so I placed my hands together in a
position of prayer and bowed my head, working on
the hitherto successful strategy that if you refuse
to fight back, guys are generally very reluctant to
beat you up. It worked. A man grabbed me from
behind with both hands and hauled me out of the
centre of the mob. I made it back to my bus without
further incident.
All of this would have been water off a duck's
back had Morde and I then been able to board a
plane and fly back to Australia. Unfortunately the
authorities had ruled that this 'free' man should
not be allowed to leave the country, nor go
anywhere near a border or a foreign embassy, nor
have any contact with 'foreigners'. The 'foreigner'
restriction was aimed at the foreign press. Even
so, technically, I wasn't allowed to spend
extensive time with my old friend without risking
seeing him re-arrested!
We were reunited briefly on the evening of that
same day of his release. Unfortunately I cried so
much that I really didn't get the chance to tell
him all of the things that I had prepared for that
moment. All I can hope for now is that one-day we
will catch up properly - perhaps over a few beers
back here in the land of Oz. I know that Morde
would like that.
Getting Morde out of Israel is indeed the next
big challenge for the Vanunu campaign. I don't know
how hard this will prove to be. I do know that I
had a bloody hard time getting out myself. In my
case it wasn't that they didn't want me out (they
held off the departure of the plane until I got on
board). They just seemed determined to let me know
that they didn't want me back.
I had been warned by the other peace activists
of intimidation tactics employed by airport staff.
Ironically, I initially made it through all four
security checkpoints without being stopped. It was
only as I proceeded to the final gate that a young
man in a suit caught up with me and said, "Excuse
me sir, but can I see your passport." He then told
me that there had been a 'problem' and that he
would need to retain my passport until the
'problem' had been resolved. I was then shuffled
into a small room to begin a three-hour process of
interrogation, body searching and luggage
examination.
In the end the verdict was that I was free to go
and that there was nothing suspect about the
contents of my bags, but that the bags themselves
were suspect and that none of them could be taken
on board as hand luggage. This meant that I could
carry with me my camera, but not in my camera case,
my laptop, but not my laptop case, my video camera,
but not the bag with the shoulder strap that I
lugged it around in, my toothbrush and paste, but
not my toiletries bag, and even my Palm-pilot
portable keyboard, but not the little vinyl
dust-jacket that I kept it in. I could take what I
liked, so long as I carried it in my arms.
It was just a game, though they managed to keep
straight faces throughout the whole ordeal. For my
part I refused to get on board without the bulk of
my carry-on items. In the end they agreed to give
me a large cardboard box to put them in.
And so my cheap holiday in other people's misery
came to an end. But now the real work begins. For I
returned home, but I left my friend inside the
confines of St George's Cathedral in Jerusalem,
where the good bishop has offered him
sanctuary.
Morde can't leave the Cathedral grounds. He has
at least two reporters on every exit, taking shifts
to cover his movements 24-hours per day. If Morde
tries to walk out into the street, he'll be
immediately surrounded and identified, and given
the number of locals that would count it as a point
of pride to be responsible for his death, Morde's
life in the open probably wouldn't last more than a
few minutes.
I'd like to see my friend back here in
Australia. I wonder if the Australian government
has the courage to offer him citizenship?
©2011, Rev. David B.
Smith
* * *
Never contend with a man who has nothing to
lose. - Baltasar Gracian
Rev.
David B. Smith is a Parish priest, community
worker, martial arts master, pro boxer, author of
Sex,
the Ring & the Eucharist: Reflections on
life, ministry & fighting in the
inner-city and a
father of three. Get a free preview copy of Father
Dave, the 'Fighting Father's book when you sign up
for his free newsletter at www.fatherdave.org
or dave@fatherdave.org
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