Putting an American face on Palestinian aspirations

My first reaction to the death of Rachel Corrie was to sigh at the damfoolishness of a 23-year-old from Olympia who would place her body in the way of the Israeli army. On March 16, 2003, in Rafah, Palestine, an Israeli soldier drove his bulldozer over her and crushed her.

I think of the Chinese man who blocked the column of tanks in Beijing on June 4, 1989. That man created an image and vanished, never leaving his face. Rachel left her face.

In "My Name Is Rachel Corrie," now playing at the Seattle Repertory Theatre, actress Marya Sea Kaminski brings Rachel to life in a 90-minute monologue extracted solely from Rachel's diary and e-mails. Here is The Evergreen State College idealist, who declares, "I am building the world myself and putting new hats on everybody."

The 9/11 attacks have provided a focus to her fervor. She is drawn to the Palestinians. She imbibes Arabic. Feeling that she must join in, she goes to Gaza to witness the Israeli occupation.

Making use of her "international white person privilege" — an asset she feels she shouldn't possess but does — she joins a campaign to block the bulldozing of Palestinian homes, which is how the Israelis searched for smuggling tunnels.

Still, Rachel says, "I worry we are not really effective. I still don't feel particularly at risk." The protesters take more risks — and the soldiers grow more steely. Toward the end, she says, "I am really scared and questioning my belief in the fundamental goodness of human nature."

Her father, an actuary — Rachel denounces his "neoliberal job" — says in an e-mail he is proud of her but wishes her home. He knows the military. He served in Vietnam with the First Air Cavalry. He senses that this is not going to come out well.

She has dreams of dying. "I can't die. I can't die," she insists. But she does.

I spoke to her father, Craig Corrie. He said where Rachel was killed there had been two bulldozers (49-metric-ton Caterpillar D9s) and two soldiers in each one, plus an armored personnel carrier. There were six or seven protesters — and unlike the man in Beijing, the protesters in Gaza intended to stop the army permanently.

For a while, the bulldozer drivers would stop at the protesters and yell at them. Then they were called away. After they came back, they didn't stop, and within five minutes Rachel was run down.

Apologists say it was an accident. Perhaps the driver's intention was to force Rachel to jump aside, and it was an accident that her legs got caught in the advancing pile of dirt.

The not stopping was no accident. Certainly, the Corries do not speak of accidents. Not once when I heard them did they say their daughter had "left us" or "passed away" or "died." Always they say she was killed.

It was her death, and her expressive writing, that made Rachel Corrie an international figure. A British paper, the Guardian, asked to see Rachel's writing and published it. A Guardian editor, along with actor Alan Rickman (the terrorist in "Die Hard") made a play of it. It has been performed in London and New York only, and to much controversy. The play is doing so well at the Rep that it has been held over until May 6.

Of course the play does not tell both sides. Neither did the 1960 movie "Exodus," which I saw as a kid. It told the Israeli side only, and in Paul Newman, put an American face on that side. For years, it was the only side Americans could see.

The Palestinian side never had an American face. Now it does. It is a female face, an unthreatening face. Rachel's face.

One wonders whether Rachel would think it was all worth it. Her mother, Cindy Corrie, says Rachel's story may open Americans to hearing the Palestinians' side, which would be a good thing. Still, she says, "Sometimes you want to reclaim your child for yourself."

Bruce Ramsey's column appears regularly on editorial pages of The Times. His e-mail address is bramsey@seattletimes.com