BYE BYE GAZA - Barry Chamish

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The police will not permit the marchers to enter Kfar Maimon
and camp. But the march will go on anyway.
"This is it," I tell my companions, "It's the showdown. Get
ready to breech police lines."
I prepare myself in the car to be hurt or make it through
unscathed, or be arrested trying. Whatever the result, I would
stand with my fellow Jews and fight as hard as I knew how.
Traffic to Kfar Maimon is blocked by the police, so we park
and start walking to the police lines. It is a surreal hike. In the
background are long rounds of machine gun fire, just to
scare the protesters who brought their children. And there
were lots of them. I thought, are they totally deluded? Was
this just a picnic to them, a chance to sleep under the stars?
They must have believed that the police would be so moved
by the sight of their children that they would open the gates
of Gush Katif to them.
As we approach the police lines, the march organizers run
up and down the road beseeching the people to go back to
their cars and be patient. Their attorneys had submitted a
petition to the Supreme Court to let the march continue.
That was it for me. I was going home. If this protest
depended on the will of the Israeli "justice" system, I'd rather
watch it on TV. Didn't anyone understand that there was no
justice to be found anywhere in official Israel, that the
government no longer had any moral authority over its
people, that Israel as a nation was no longer to be respected
or obeyed?
A strange thought hit me. When American blacks sought
justice in the mid-60s, they stood up like men and burnt their
cities to the ground. And they got their way. The government
spent hundreds of billions of dollars to compensate them for
injustice and their civil rights were strictly enforced.