...over land and sea...

Monday 25^th September

I received an email from my mate Rob in Doha today. He’s been out there for about six months working for Al-Jazeera on their online English-language news site. We met just before we both went out to Palestine and spent a lot of time there together. He’s been much more involved than me with politics in Britain and as well as squatting has a past in the noble sport of hunt-sabbing and a bunch of anecdotes to go with it. In Israel/Palestine he was a moderating voice: for example he helped me reconsider trying to sabotage the bulldozers and cranes that were used to build the illegal Apartheid wall when I was intent on creeping around in the dark with a screwdriver and a few bags of sugar. I would probably have been shot. We did most of our actions together and kept each other posted on football scores whenever one of us went to an internet café. It is probably no coincidence that it was after he left that I got myself arrested (although we should not downplay the role of the police, who were worse than any soldiers we confronted).

My second arrest abroad occurred on a day when we were trying to get to Tulkarem in the north of the West Bank from the Israeli side. I was with a coach-load of Israeli anarchists and we were turned back so many times that in the end we (well, they, really) decided to give up on trying to get through and instead chose to try a peaceful demonstration in Tel Aviv outside the Foreign Ministry. After lunch and much subsequent delaying, we sat down on a crossing on the road. I was all bravado and went out first and sat down. When I turned around everyone else was sitting in circles with their arms interlocked. Talk about amateur activism. I was forced to try to join a group and settle in even as the police were beating the first bunch of people and dragging them off.

When they got to me, my glasses came off in the (one-sided) struggle and after I was dumped on the pavement I went back to retrieve them. As I did so, one policeman was pulling a female protester off the road by her hair and I said “Oi, that’s a woman.” Was that PC? Discuss. Anyway, he said “Say that again” so I did and he attacked me: knee to the bollocks and punches to the face. It didn’t hurt but I certainly was a bit shocked. Next thing I know there are four of them bundling me into a van and for some reason I was the only one of the six or seven in there to be handcuffed (behind my back). After we were driven to the police station, they got each of us in head locks and rushed us inside. The scum policeman in front of me was punching the anarchist he had headlocked in the face and fortunately for me, my assailant was more interested in kicking out at the same Israeli activist than he was at ruining my good looks (the Israeli suffered a broken nose and was later taken to hospital).

Well, we spent a few hours in the police station. I was interviewed by a guy from Shin Bet, the Israeli secret service, but said nothing. (What the fuck did I know anyway?) Later that night we were transferred to Abu Kabir, apparently the nastiest prison in Israel (unless you are Palestinian, in which case a whole different level of degradation awaits). I was wisecracking all the way and even managed to smuggle my mobile into the cell, which made me popular with the activists I was sharing my disgusting cell with. They still left me in the morning though. I spent another two nights there, the first with robbers who treated me like a hero once they heard my arrest was shown on TV and the second with two Russians who seemed to be trying to intimidate me. After a brief court appearance, I was sent to the comfort of the detention centre.

Anyway, Rob mailed because he wanted me to get 2 mates of his from Australia tickets to the Fulham game next Monday, which I was able to do with a minimum of fuss. Although there are empty seats around us at the Rookery end, only tickets for the Vicarage Road end are sold to the public. Don’t ask me. Rob came with his brother Andy to see Brighton get a point two seasons ago. At the end of the game, when we all met up, I’d primed 8-year-old Joss to say “You were lucky”, which left them a bit gobsmacked. Now they are thirty eight places below us in the league (ha ha). In contrast to the Winder brothers, I think the Aussie couple are actually Watford fans?! Whatever the reason, I was happy to oblige. Our first 3 points...