I had a gun aimed to my head two times in a month’s period on my trip to my west bank,
First time was a check point, it was hot, as usual and the isrealis in the booth were chatting and having a lunch break, while I sketched in my sketch book, as a man with a very pregnant wife began to complain that we’ve been waiting and forced to stand for over three hours, an Israeli officer started to yell that he’ll shoot him and his wife if he didn’t shut up. and being who I am as a person, forgetting that I have lost all my rights as a human being due to my race, I ignored the clear “no video or photo recording ” sign, and tried to be swift about it, a soldier not much older than myself saw me before I knew it he had his gun pointed to me speaking broken Arabic calling me a savage bitch, I froze, holding breathe. I wasn’t use to this kind of thing, most people think I’d be, since the stereotypes of Detroit, but it wasn’t like this, never like this. I saw his expression soften as he looked down to the sketch book loosely held in my arms, opened to a sketch of captian America, magneto, and black panther. “You’re not from around here are you?” He says in perfect English.“No.“I reply with my heart in my throat
“where from?”
“Detroit.all my life”
“Chicago! Oh man it’s a small world”
“yeah” my voice shakes, his gun lowered but his finger still plays with the trigger. I say my prayers beneath my breathe
“Oh man, like you’re a really good artist-” he begins to start small talk, I reply with “yes, no, yeah, oh.” And soon his small talk turns into flirting in the most disturbing ways.
“Your papers say you’re from hebron, I’m gonna be in that sector in a few days, you know, protecting good nice people like yourself from the bad ones, you’re not like most the of the ones here” he avoids calling Palestinians people I notice.
He stays there making small talk and flirting with me, someone clearly who was terrified , his hand never left the gun. I leave unharmed.
Second time, weeks later, I go through a search point metal detector, it goes off and the gates behind me and infront close, I look back hearing a woman scream as I notice a gun pointed to me a few feet away, I look back again and notice my father terrified, out of panic I scream in perfect English “my hands are up! I’m clean! I’m an born American citizen, From Detroit Michigan!” Another man behind the desk asks in broken heavy English “tourist?”
“Yes.” Iie, clearly not.
“Let her through, I think she’s Indian, they all look the same at this point” he says in Hebrew, I act like I didn’t understand and hand him my passport as he winked when he grabbed it.
I’ve been wondering, for the week I’ve been back in America, would I still be here if I wasn’t privileged with an American born citizenship. Then I remember people telling me 12 people got shot in the first check point I went to within a months time, and 23 in the other.
The answer is no. I wouldn’t have.
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