What’s in store for Egypt?

MRG’s Communications Intern Sofia Nazalya attended a panel discussion marking the first anniversary of the Egypt uprising and found some interesting perspectives and a decidedly mixed, but healthy, atmosphere of scepticism and hope for the future.

What is the pulse of the Arab revolt? Where is the revolution in Egypt headed and why did it happen in the first place? These were the themes of ’The Pulse of the Arab Revolt’, an event hosted by the Institute of Development Studies (IDS) to mark the launch of their new publication of the same name, and indeed to commemorate the first anniversary of 25 January, a day that Egyptians the world over will not soon forget.

Since the results of the Egyptian election that saw the Muslim Brotherhood’s Freedom and Justice Party capturing 47% of the seats, and the Salafist Al-Nour party taking 25%, much has been said in the media regarding the ‘rise of Islamism’ in Egypt, ranging from a cautious yet anxious wait-and-see approach, to a categorical rejection of Islamists across the board. There are those who argue that the latter approach oversimplifies the more moderate Muslim Brotherhood, and risks spurring the more extreme.

Egyptian Copts praying at Tahrir Square. Credit: Wikimedia

In my last blog on the Amazigh in Libya I wrote about the importance of protecting indigenous rights in Libya and the danger a hyper-nationalist state would pose to these rights. Is Egypt heading towards hyper-nationalism? Mariz Tadros, one of the panellists at the event and a Research Fellow at IDS, reflected on this question. She noted that there were instances where both the Army and the Islamists have accused Copts of being ‘divisive’ forces and those who champion women’s rights as ‘agents of Western imperialism’. Even though Egypt’s revolt began with calls for social justice, Tadros notes that the current framework for social justice still excluded certain elements of society – notably women and the minority Copts.

And indeed this exclusion has meant the ongoing repression of the Copts. Copts have had a turbulent history within Egypt, having faced discrimination for decades. Just a month before the fall of the Mubarak regime, 21 people were killed and 70 injured in a suspected suicide bombing during a New Year’s Eve church service in Alexandria.

But while there is now a freedom from fear in the region, as noted by Ramy Aly, a panellist and a Research Fellow in the School of Global Studies, the same cannot be said for the Copts. The death of 27 protestors, mostly Copts, during the Maspero demonstrations in October 2011 against the demolition of a church, spelled a new wave of fear for the minority community. It must be noted however that it was the Army that inflicted the violence in this instance.

Maspero demonstrations in October 2011, which led to the death of 27 protestors, mostly Copts. Credit: Gigi Ibrahim

How do we understand this situation of intolerance and violence coming from both secular and religious forces? Aly points to an embedded culture of militarism as the underlying problem. He argues that the removal of Mubarak has not removed the laws and social norms that have existed in Egypt for years, with the reality on the ground seeing the extension of war-based values, practices and ideologies. Any mention of minority rights is seen through the prism of ’national security’, as though by ensuring the victory of minorities and the empowerment of women, the revolution would ultimately fail.

One common thread ran through all the panellists’ arguments: Even though the dictator has been wrestled out of power, policy has yet to change. Without legislative development Aly argues, a vacuum of rights and freedoms will continue to exist. So what now is the shape of things to come for minority rights? The answer depends on several things, not least how one construes the term ‘Islamists’ – in itself perhaps a counterproductive term since it makes little attempt to recognize the many differences between the various camps.

With the  Muslim Brotherhood gaining such strong support amongst Egyptian voters, they have the mammoth task of doing Egypt’s revolution justice. Tadros argued that the Muslim Brotherhood may be forced to open their terms of social justice, being the majority party in Parliament. Aly points to the current move away from militarism, best demonstrated with united calls for the end of military rule, as a reason for hope for the protection of rights and freedoms. Maha Abdel Rahman, another panellist and professor at Cambridge University, observed that the past year had seen high levels of politicization amongst the Egyptian people, the foundation for a people-powered democracy.

This perhaps is the new framework for Egypt, away from the out-dated model of entrenched elitism. Whatever one’s opinion is of the Muslim Brotherhood, the reality is that the question of minority rights will be a litmus test to prove that they are capable of leading a true democracy.

Is this just the beginning of the revolution for Libya’s Berbers?

Sofia Nazalya, MRG’s communications intern, looks at the revolution in Libya and its effects on the indigenous Berbers and questions if more should be done to ensure that this long oppressed group are not left behind.

Many of the rebels who fought in Libya’s Nafusa Mountains against the Gaddafi regime were not only fighting for democracy and fundamental freedoms, but also for their rights as indigenous Berbers, or “Amazigh” (a literal translation would be “Free Man”), as they prefer to be called. The united front held by the Nafusa rebels, many of them Amazigh, against the armed forces secured the area surrounding the Tunisian border, which led the way to the advance on the eventual victory in Tripoli. However these significant contributions made by the Amazigh forces in the revolution seemed to be quickly forgotten, evidenced by  the lack of representation of the Amazigh in the interim government recently announced by the Transitional National Council.

Amazigh woman who were forced to flee to Tunisia during the fighting. Credit: Magharebia

However, since the downfall of the Gaddafi regime indigenous Berber have begun to experience a greater amount of freedom in their cultural practice, a cultural revival of sorts – the teaching of Tamazight, the Amazigh language, previously banned, is now embraced in newly available language courses, whilst the airing of radio broadcasts and other cultural initiatives such as the restoration of old Amazigh houses has begun in a bid to preserve their way of life.

The Amazigh, who make up 9% of the Libyan population, have a long history of oppression dating back from the time of the Romans. In Gaddafi’sLibya, Amazigh texts, names and symbols were prohibited, suppressing the indigenous community’s identity and way of life. Arbitrary arrests, detentions and torture of Amazigh activists were part of Gaddafi’s vision of a pan-Arabic, ultra-nationalistic Libya. He even went so far as to state in several occasions that Amazigh identity was nothing more than a colonial invention and that all North Africans were Arab and nothing more.

Fortunately, this extreme form of oppression will not feature in the new Libya. However, what has the Arab Spring really brought to the table for the Amazigh? Can they expect nothing more than the ability to speak and learn their language and open cultural centres without fear of persecution and not much else? Is it a realistic notion to envision a Libya where adequate political representation and indigenous rights are constitutionally protected? The National Amazigh Libyan Conference (NALC) certainly seems to think that constitutionally protected rights is more than just an aspiration, seeing that their publicity campaign centres around this pertinent issue.

With the overthrow of Gaddafi and the establishment of indigenous advocacy groups such as the NALC and other Amazigh cultural groups, the future for the Amazigh seems more optimistic than it has ever been in Libya. A future of continued marginalization seems inconsistent with the spirit of democracy and freedom the Arab Spring took flight from. However as so many revolutions in history, the story hardly ever ends there, and often it is the rights of minorities that seem to be sacrificed or forgotten. A new hyper-nationalist Libya would put Amazigh rights at risk and put the Arab Spring several steps backwards. Only time will tell, though rigorous monitoring, international attention and ongoing advocacy will help ensure that the Amazigh are not forgotten.

Israeli Demolitions: Destroying Lives and Connections to the Land

Joe Gonzales, MRG’s Media Intern in London, reports on recent demolitions of long-established Bedouin villages in Israel, and the hopes of local residents for government recognition of their titles to the land.

According to international media reports, in early November a unit of hundreds of Israeli soldiers descended without notice upon the town of Rahat and fully demolished one of the city’s newest mosques. Rahat is located in southern Israel’s Negev desert and maintains a population largely consisting of Bedouin, a formerly nomadic people indigenous to the area and part of Israel’s Arab minority.

The misfortune present in the unannounced destruction of Rahat’s mosque is obvious, yet the town’s unenviable experience is far from an isolated incident. Instead, it is one example of a continuing Israeli state practice that affects thousands of Israeli Bedouin and sometimes manifests itself in a far more severe fashion. Roughly 45 settlements, home to 74,000 Bedouin, in the Negev are unrecognised by the Israeli government in their entirety. As such, each home, mosque and building in such places is under constant threat of random demolition owing to their implied recent and illegal construction.

One such settlement is Al-Araqib. A Bedouin village with 300 inhabitants located just a few kilometres south of Rahat, Al-Araqib has existed for several generations. The village, however, is not found on any Israeli maps. In fact, even a consultation of Google Maps, with its extraordinary capacity for showing 360 degree street views the world over, identifies nothing but desert where one should find Al-Araqib. This is despite the fact that the village has been located there since the time of the Ottoman Empire.

Al-Araqib’s lack of official recognition is a consequence of various aspects of the country’s legal structure and political history. This lack of official acknowledgment has had dire consequences for the village’s inhabitants. Residents and human rights groups state that Al-Araqib has been demolished six times since June of this year. This included demolitions during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan.

Two residents of Al-Araqib, Ismail abu Madegan al Turi and Aziz abu Madegan al Turi, were recently in London to discuss their village’s plight at an event organised by Amnesty International. Ismail’s family has lived in the Al-Araqib for generations. It is where both his father and grandfather were born, and Ismail himself has lived in the village for the whole of his 75 years. He is quick to point out that he is in fact older than the state of Israel itself, and therefore asks, “Did I come to Israel? Or, did Israel come to me?”

Ismail’s rhetoric is far removed from the extreme variety of anti-Israeli criticism often occurring in the media. “We are not enemies of Israel,” he calmly states, “God wants us to live together.” Brandishing his Israeli passport, he draws attention to what he believes to be the root of his village’s problems: gross societal inequalities between Israel’s non-Arab majority and the country’s Arab minority. “Israel says Arabs have rights, but there are no rights for Arabs…no democracy.”

Ismail highlights the fact that the most concrete problem for inhabitants of the Negev’s unrecognised villages is landlessness. This, he clarifies, makes it an entirely different issue than the more widely known predicament facing Arab-Palestinians. “I am not talking about the West Bank and Gaza,” he explains, “they have a state.”

Aziz abu Madegan al Turi presents legal paperwork supporting Ismail’s claims concerning Al-Araqib’s generation-spanning existence. Aziz provides copies of deeds and contracts signed between his ancestors and the Ottoman Empire. He argues that these documents provide historical evidence of his tribe’s right to live in Al-Araqib. He offers further record of his village’s existence in the form of dozens of tax receipts from the British government, dating from the era when the area was part of the British mandate of Palestine. Aziz seems particularly distraught about the village’s loss of livelihood, remarking that “they have destroyed the economy of the village totally.”

Indeed, the constant demolitions have devastated the quality of life in Al-Araqib. It is especially abysmal when compared to the quality of life of other Israeli citizens. The UN’s Human Development Index (an empirical state-by-state analysis of world health, education, and income) ranks Israel as the 15th most developed nation in the world, ahead of Finland, Belgium and the UK.

Conversely, residents and local human rights NGOs report that the Bedouin Israeli citizens of Negev’s unrecognised villages lack access to running water, electricity, health care, education or infrastructure. Aziz and Ismail believe this denial of basic amenities is an attempt to further pressure the villages’ residents to relocate to state-planned townships that do provide these services. These townships are not ideal destinations, however, as local media cover their crippling poverty and high violent crime rates. Rahat is such a township. The previously mentioned destruction of its mosque, as well the high levels of poverty and crime, likely give Bedouin villagers little hope that such a move would be a positive change in their lives.

The possibility for improvement in the lives of the Bedouin natives of Al-Araqib and other unrecognised villages does exist. Both Aziz and Ismail cite the successful efforts that won state recognition for Bedouin villages in the Galilee region in the 1990s. Ismail acknowledges that international NGOs can have a role to play, suggesting that they help pressure Israel simply to recognise Arab Israelis’ rights. “We don’t ask to become an independent state, we ask to become equal citizens.” He is adamant that further demolitions will not diminish his people’s desire to remain in their village. “[Al-Araqib] is our father. It is our mother. We will never leave Al-Araqib.”

Re-branding Persia

Today, the world is watching as Iranians come out to vote in the presidential elections. MRG’s production editor, Kristen Harrison, suggests the country is in need of some good PR.

Iran is a country desperate for change, not just in terms of the lives of individuals but in terms of its relationship with the outside world. Ayetollah Khomenei’s Islamic revolution 30 years ago was – in the eyes of many Westerners – the start of a downhill slide for Iran’s PR . This was not just a political or religious revolution, it was a cultural revolution that would fundamentally change how the rest of the world perceived the country. Iran went from being seen as a Persian paradise – full of art, history, culture and romance – to being seen as an oppressive society full of censorship, political scarring and angry, grumpy people. Now, to be sure, Iranians suffered greatly under the Shah and there are many who strongly support the Islamic government. And Iranian minorities have suffered discrimination under both regimes. Nevertheless, we need reminding that Iran is still that Persian paradise.

The problem for Iran is the vast divide between its people and its leadership. A rich, colourful world exists but it’s wrapped in a bubble of political and religious rule that prevents anyone from seeing in or out. I recently spent 10 days holidaying in Iran and what was most surprising was the complete disjuncture between my preconceptions and the reality. In no way is Iran intimidating. In no way is Iran dangerous for tourists. In no way is Iran full of miserable, silenced women. In no way is Iran an impenetrable country. I have never visited a country where such warmth just springs from the souls of people. Everywhere we went people wanted to talk to us, take us home and feed us, introduce us to their parents, show us off to friends and proffer all manner of hospitalities. After initial feelings of suspicion (why on earth are they being so nice?) we realised their motivations were completely altruistic. They just  wanted us, as foreigners, to enjoy their beautiful country.

What more can I say. I hope Iran’s future involves bridging the gap between the citizens of the country, the government, and the outside world. It is a country to be embraced, not feared. Here are a few photos to
illustrate some of what Iran is really about. But please, go and see for yourself.

Oh, and on that issue of re-branding, perhaps a return to the name “Persia” is a place to start.

The roof of Jameh Mosque in Esfahan, showing the beautiful geometric designs that persian buildings are famous for.

Azadi (meaning ‘freedom’) monument in Teheran, built in 1971 (pre-revolution) to commemorate the 2500th anniversary of the Persian empire.

The roof of a traditional Iranian restaurant in Esfahan.

This group of schoolboys were keen to practice their English with us.

Sour plums. Popular with Iranians but… well… an acquired taste.

Jameh Mosque in Esfahan was one of the highlights with its impressive architectural symmetry and use of light.

Fatima’s mum is teaching her English. She is 4 years old and can already count to 23.

An example of true architectural genius. These wind towers act as airconditioners to cool the houses in Yazd, a desert city. Why oh why haven’t we adopted this technique?

The flame at this sacred Zoroastrian site has been burning for 1250 years.

Motorbikes are everywhere, even in these narrow backstreets of Yazd.

A now abandoned Zoroastrian village on the outskirts of Yazd.

The nightlife in Teheran is buzzing and it is also very civilized, alcohol-free and family-friendly. This carload are heading to one of the many packed local parks to enjoy an evening picnic.

Your average intersection in Teheran demonstrating another of Iran’s contradictions: all the lovely, warm people turn into maniacs behind the wheel of a car.

An 83-year-old rollerblader in Laleh Park, Teheran.

mmmm… spices.

Pol Bridge, Esfahan.

Zayandeh river in Esfahan is currently experiencing a serious drought.

Pictures on the wall show famous Zurkhaneh athletes. Zurkhaneh is the national sport of Iran and is accompanied by a man with a large drum who sings poetry. Amazing to watch.

These girls enjoy a dip in the main fountain of Imam Square, Esfahan.

An man leaves a market in Esfahan laden with mysterious empty bottles.

Way past their bedtime

Preti Taneja, MRG’s Commissioning Editor and co-author of an upcoming MRG report on Iraqi minority refugees, reports back from a research trip to Jordan

It’s nearly midnight, but Lavinia, 7, Naveen, 5 and Venetia, 3, are a long way from sleep. They wave hello as Father Khalil and I climb the steep stone stairs to the two rooms they share with their parents in downtown Amman. It’s a warm night after a baking hot day; there is no fan, so we leave the door open. Across the flat roof and on the other side of the hills, the lights of Jordan’s capital city twinkle invitingly. But these three little girls are Iraqi Christians, who fled the war in 2004. That means they rarely get to leave the house. Their father only goes out early in the morning, before police are on the streets. He sends their mother to collect the rations available from various NGOs working in Amman. Both parents fear being arrested for having outstayed their permits. As the girls tuck into the warm shwarma Father Khalil has brought, their mother says her greatest fear is that the family will be sent back to Iraq.

For Iraqi Christians, the situation in their homeland is terrifying. Targeted for their religion since 2003, suffering threats, kidnappings and murders, more and more families are leaving. Many of them are now living in limbo in Jordan. Like the many other Iraqis who have sought temporary shelter in Amman, they are not officially known as refugees, but instead are ‘guests’ of the Kingdom. This means they cannot work, and once their temporary visas expire, they are vulnerable to arrests. Though the government says it does not forcibly deport Iraqis back to Iraq, many fear the Jordanian police and believe they will be sent back. For Christians including the family I am talking to, this is not a realistic option. ‘I would never go back, not even if I was the President,’ says the girls’ mother.

As their finances dwindle and until they can be resettled somewhere else, Iraqi families rely on the network of international aid agency services in Amman, and on locals such as Father Khalil. He provides support, food and advice to Iraqi families of all ethnicities and religions. His work to help them is funded through donations from individuals and from a small British based charity, Iraqi Christians in Need.

It is much needed help. With a small amount of financial support from NGOs and the 150 JD per month the family manages to earn, they are desperately short in this expensive city. It was only last year that Iraqi children displaced by the conflict were granted permission to attend Jordanian schools. Some have missed years already. Lavinia’s schooling alone costs 650 JD per year; she may not be able to go back when term begins again. Venetia, who was born in Jordan, has never been to kindergarten – by the time she is primary school age she may be too behind in her development to enrol. They do not go out in the day, their father says, because apart from his fear of being arrested, it is too hard to tell them they can’t have the food and toys they see around them. As we talk, I notice childish scribbles decorate the walls of the room we are in, framing the few family photos and religious pictures of Jesus and Mary with loops of pen and pencil. With nothing else to do and few toys, the girls draw on the walls.

They giggle together as they mimic their father and his friends shuffling, dealing and playing with a pack of cards. Sometimes their attention is caught by a lurid Turkish film dubbed into Arabic playing out on the small TV in the corner. Lavinia and Naveen, still hungry, come forward for another shwarma each. Their parents go without while the girls eat.

When I get the camera out, their curiosity brings them over to investigate. I take a picture of the family together, minus Naveen who is too shy to join the group. But one by one the girls are tempted into having a go on the camera, and the workings of the digital screen, as if they are all on TV, makes all three of them shake with laughter. They take a picture each: of their mother, of Father Khalil. Finally Naveen relaxes, and insists on posing with her sisters. Seeing them falling over with laughter as I show them the pictures they have taken brings home how ready they are to learn new things, how much they want to experience. And how little they get the chance. As I wish them goodnight they wave and shout goodbye until we drive away.

See photos of Iraqi minority refugees in Jordan and Syria here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/minorityrights/tags/iraqiminorityrefugees/

A Jewish state or a democratic state?

The end of my week is taken up with the future of Israel. Israel is one of the handful of countries in the world without a written constitution (the United Kingdom and New Zealand being the others). The main reasons for this are that the drafting of a constitution requires definite answers to unresolved questions in Israel; the place of religion in public life, the borders of the state and the position of the Arab minority. It is on the latter issue that we focus, in a discussion on the drafting of a constitution.

The essential issue is can Israel be a ‘Jewish’ and ‘democratic’ state that equally protects the rights of all of its citizens? To understand this one has to go back to the founding of Israel. The first definite proposal for the partition of the British mandate of Palestine into a ‘Jewish’ and ‘Arab’ state came from a British Peel Commission in 1937. It argued that ethnic or religious segregation was the only way to peace and envisaged both sides ‘exchanging’ populations in a similar way to the Greeks and Turks in 1923 – incidentally, the latter can hardly be considered an exchange that has led to long-term peace between the two countries.

In 1947, despite the Nazi extermination of minorities, the international mood seemed to err ever more strongly in favour of ethnic and religious partition and the expulsion of minorities. German and Hungarian minorities had been expelled from their homes in central Europe, and August 1947 saw the partition of British India, with thousands perishing in the process. Despite this, the United Nations voted in November 1947 for a Jewish and an Arab state. However, unlike the Peel Commission, it did not envisage an exchange of populations, but that both states would fully protect the minority rights of the communities within them. The Declaration of Independence of Israel refers to the guarantee of equality and basic rights of all its citizens.

Today, however, the Palestinian Arab citizens of Israel, approximately 20% of Israel’s population, largely live as second-class citizens. This was certainly my initial impression after my week’s travels, but is an allegation that is made repeatedly at the conference and largely seems to be accepted by the Jewish leaders there, who recognise it as an issue that must be dealt with through a constitution.

For two days, we discuss, with parliamentarians drafting a constitution, with the media and with Arabs and Jews (including Jewish minorities such as those from the Reform religion), what a constitution should contain. Ideally no state should refer to itself as ‘Jewish’ or ‘Muslim’ or ‘Christian’ as that automatically assumes some of its citizens do not fully belong. But a strong and effective guarantee of equality could overcome such a claim, as it has in other countries. Real equality, of both religion and language and in all civic and economic rights could transform the situation here.

The two days leave me surprisingly, with much optimism. I’ve met many people from all sides of the spectrum and I’ve been impressed by the high level of commitment to the drafting of a good constitution. I was also impressed by a willingness to discuss the issues that go to the heart of the identity of the state. The conference, organised by the Mossawa Centre, was an extremely positive first step. In Israel, as elsewhere, knowledge of similar scenarios around the world and the strategies adopted to tackle them, is rather low. Our own contribution, as international experts, is to bring outside knowledge of international standards and good and bad practices from other parts of the world. Successful examples, such as the multi-ethnic South Africa, as well as disastrous examples, such as the rigidly segregated Bosnia-Hercegovina, where Jews are classified as ‘Others’, can hopefully be learned from. Interesting to note that the latter example was designed by international experts…

A tale of two walls

Muhammad travelled there in one night. Richard the Lion Heart refused to see it. For centuries Jews have dreamed of returning there “next year”. It is perhaps the most desired city in the world, and certainly one for which many rivers of blood have been spilt. Today, I arrive by an electric train and my first sight is a shopping mall, followed by a traffic jam.

But, as soon as you see the Old City of Jerusalem you realise it still has whatever magic has led three faiths to declare it holy. From the outside, it is the picture we all have, the crowded city on a hill, with a skyline of church spires, the Western (Wailing) Wall of the Jewish Temple; and the golden roof of the Dome of the Rock. But it is the wall of the city that still grabs the attention, still very much in use and enclosing the city in full. When you cross the wall, you feel you have gone back centuries, in crowded streets full of cries and traders. But the traders are selling ice cream and tourist trinkets. Then a street sign – “ Via Dolorosa” – the path Jesus Christ is supposed to have travelled carrying his cross, reminds you again that you are in no ordinary city.

And a city whose history shows all too clearly the dangers of intolerance. With my name I am reminded of the Baldwins from Flanders who led the First Christian Crusade, bringing thousands of Europeans thousands of kilometres with the ideal of reclaiming Jerusalem from the “infidel”. When these warriors of Christ finally seized their dream in 1099, they celebrated by killing as many of the Muslims and Jews in the city as they could, over two days.

Today the most apparent division is between Muslim and Jew. The Dome of the Rock, Al-Aqsa Mosque and Western Wall are all in the same compound, where you need to pass extensive security checks to enter and at all times are under the gaze of armed Israeli soldiers in flak jackets and helmets. The 40th anniversary of the taking of the Old City and East Jerusalem by the Israeli army is this month.

And on leaving the old city you face the 21st century way of division. Just a short drive away, near the spot where you have the most beautiful view of the sun setting over the old city walls, is the new wall in Jerusalem. Ariel Sharon’s “security barrier” is a 3 metre high wall, complete with security guards, barbed wire and graffiti, straight out of 1960s Berlin. In Jerusalem it goes directly through residential areas. On driving back to Tel Aviv, the motorway at times has the wall on each side. Where it has not yet been built there are billboards with pictures of it, as if they should be advertising “Coming Soon”. Even though the highest court in the world, the International Court of Justice, in one of its most important judgements, has ruled the construction of this wall on occupied Palestinian land to be illegal, nothing appears to have stopped.

Will the new wall finally segregate the holy city and give final “victory” to one of the three religions? The history of the Middle East, like anywhere else, suggests that attempts to separate religions and peoples will fail, and walls will be breached, but at the price of blood and hatred. For a city as small as Jerusalem integration must be the only solution, but it is not a solution that has been tried in a long time. I will return to discuss whether Israel can be made a truly integrated society.

A room with a view… of Armageddon

Haifa

Overlooking Haifa, there is a very different view than in the old atmospheric city of Nazareth. Looking from my hotel window in one direction is the Mediterranean, and a graceful sea city curving around a bay. In another, what looks to be an extremely busy industrial port. And looking down the mountain on which my hotel is situated is a series of very organised raised gardens with what seems to be a religious building at its heart. But this is a religious building that looks very different from the many Jewish, Muslim and Christian buildings I’ve seen to date. Why does it remind me of India?

To find out why I need to investigate my surroundings. I took a short taxi ride from Nazareth to Haifa, the third city of Israel. With a randomly chosen hotel, I find myself plunged back into the world of “international blandness”; a hotel that could be anywhere in the world, tasteless international cuisine, staff who are surprised you want to set foot outside the hotel, and inevitably, a cover band playing Celine Dion. But on leaving the hotel I find I am on Mount Carmel, another sacred mountain, home to the Carmelites. Nearby are some of the main villages of the Druze, a largely forgotten religious minority in Israel and Lebanon, and in the distance … the supposed location for Armageddon.

Fortunately Armageddon seems a long way off in the tranquil gardens which turn out to be the Shrine of the Bab, the founder of the now small religion of Babism. The shrine is also sacred to the much larger Baha’i faith. Bahais are yet another religious minority that suffer major persecution in their homeland, Iran. Haifa is a long way from Iran but was chosen as the tomb of the Bab.

I am in Haifa to meet Adalah, an organisation that defends Palestinian rights through the legal system. As a lawyer myself this organisation is one of the most impressive I’ve come across who use law to bring about change. Its founders, a married couple who are a male Palestinian citizen of Israel and a Jewish woman from New York, grasped an opportunity when the Israeli Supreme Court proclaimed itself ready to start applying “basic” laws (including that of equality). Step by step, major cases were won by Adalah, including the right to public display of the Arabic language.

But I am told that the times may be changing again. Aharon Barak, President of the Supreme Court and principal intellectual force behind this change in laws, retired last year. He is one of the most impressive judges in the world but it remains to be seen whether his legacy of holding government and laws to a higher, constitutional standard will survive. As in the United Kingdom, Israeli politicians have been attacking judges for “going beyond their powers” at a time when supposed security measures are eroding what have long been fundamental freedoms against arbitrary detention and torture. I hope the moment for organisations like Adalah has not gone.

But the fact that organisations like Adalah and I’lam can even hope to make a difference highlights the contradiction in Israel, a state founded on being Jewish but supposedly granting equality to all. Palestinian citizens, 20% of the population, do have some freedom to stand for election, to use the media and legal system, which can actually bring about real change. But beneath all of this remains a great deal of widespread and systematic discrimination. Although Palestinian parties are in the Knesset, none has ever officially formed part of the coalition governments. The legal victories that have been won in recent years are still a long way from addressing the key issue of land rights.

Haifa itself is a contradiction. Beneath the modern veneer are ancient and modern religions apparently co-existing. But also there is very recent violence. Arab and Jewish civilians were killed between 1947 and 1948 and thousands of Palestinians subsequently fled. Arguments still rage as to what degree they were forced out by the Israeli army, but it’s undeniable that they have never been able to return, many leaving the beauty of Haifa and Mount Carmel to face a life in Lebanese refugee camps. Last year the tranquillity of the Tomb of Bab was disturbed by the latest war in Lebanon and north Israel. Despite appearances Haifa is a long way from being at peace.

Bed and breakfast in the sacred city

Nazareth

I am sitting in a cinema, with the star of the film directly in front of me watching himself on the screen. Around me people are glancing from the screen towards him, watching his reaction. Eventually he gets bored, jumps off his mother’s knee and runs away to play with his friends. This star is about five years old, and the film, “Bed and Breakfast” was made by two young women from my host organisation, I’lam, about the children of Nazareth. It shows the reality of life in the souq, but also the wish of even the youngest children to have a different life. We’ll see if there is hope for this in the rest of Israel.

Nazareth, in the north of Israel, is the largest city with a Palestinian Arab majority within Israel’s 1948 boundaries. The Palestinians survived here, it appears, due to the actions of one Israeli commander in 1948 who refused orders to expel the Palestinian civilians. Walking through the souq you are transported a long way from the beach resorts just a few kilometres away. The atmosphere of crowded old streets, of children running around and greeting you may be charming for foreigners, but also the poverty is marked. The distinction is stark with other parts of Israel, but particularly with the Jewish city of Nazareth Illit, a settlement built in the 1950s on the hill above the Arab city, designed clearly to overpower the latter both physically and demographically. It has not done so yet, but remains an intimidating presence from down in the valley.

Other, even more ancient quarrels can be perceived in the city. The city so sacred to Christians today has a Muslim majority – and whilst the differences between the religions can be overemphasised, they are nevertheless still real. A conference I attend on press ethics erupts at one point into accusations between religions, but then calms down again. The most notable sights in Nazareth are religious – especially the very large and new Catholic Church on the site where Mary received the Annunciation. Very impressive to know the exact location after 2000 years – but then, in a different part of the city, is an Orthodox Church, on what it says is the real location for the Annunciation. Arguments over churches in this part of the world have led to wars in the past, even in the Crimea.

But I spend the weekend talking about modern communication. I’lam, the Media Center for Arab Palestinians in Israel, is a young organisation, hosting a festival aimed at helping Palestinians develop their media skills. In various old buildings in the city I came across groups, predominately female, discussing blogging for human rights, filmmaking and monitoring the local media (which too often automatically portrays minorities as a threat). The film “Bed and Breakfast” is a strong example of what can be achieved by an active and hopeful organisation.