Two days after election night, after each state in turn had rapidly turned bright red for McCain or deep blue for Obama, only North Carolina stayed "too close to call, leaning Obama," which translated to palest blue on the electoral map. Appropriately enough, the baby blue called "Carolina blue" for the color of the University of N. Carolina at Chapel Hill- my home town. Every so-called battleground state north of N. Carolina turned blue, including Pennsylvania and Virginia, just as every state in the southeast south of NC turned red for McCain, from South Carolina on down. The battle line was drawn, it turns out, somewhere across the middle of the old North state.
Long after the nation had moved on, with Obama firmly elected, North Carolinians avidly followed the latest count of the provisional votes as if they were watching the outcome of a fight for the soul of their state. Democratic challenger Kay Hagan defeated incumbent Elizabeth Dole; Democrat Bev Perdue was elected governor. The very county Sarah Palin had congratulated for being "the real America, the pro-America parts of the country", went for Obama with a double-digit margin. Still, NC remained "too close to call" for the top of the ticket.
Finally, three days of counting provisional votes later, NC was declared for Obama by 14,000 votes- blue, but only the palest Carolina baby blue.

Only in America can the son of an immigrant African with a funny name be elected to the leadership of the most powerful nation on earth. It's a good night to be an American, a good night to be proud to be an American. A night when no one could help thinking of the rest of the world watching, and wondering, and admiring, what America has done.
A good night to be a North Carolinian: my state soundly repudiated and defeated incumbent Senator Elisabeth Dole, who ran a despicable senatorial campaign ad, attacking her Sunday-school-teacher opponent of being "Godless."
A good night for John McCain: after running a divisive, xenophobic, negative campaign, Senator McCain in his concession speech seemed relieved to put this hate-mongering behind him and graciously endorse his Democratic rival.
Tomorrow morning there may well be a hangover, and even buyer remorse, and certainly it will be a rude awakening to the sober realities of a global economy in freefall and two endless wars in the Middle East and a helath care system in shambles. But tonight is a good night!

Latest nadir in this vitriolic campaign: North Carolina's absentee senior senator, Elisabeth Dole, accuses her Democratic rival, Kay Hagan, a white Episcopalian former Sunday school teacher, of being godless. Now it isn't only a Barak Obama who can be undermined by false accusations of secret Islamic sympathies; the WASPiest of candidates can be accused of secret aetheistic associations. Kay Hagan is suing for defamation and defending her "Christian faith." The point is, she shouldn't have to. A religious litmus test should not be part of the qualifications for public office.
On the other hand, Republican tactics backfire when Sarah Palin's 150K makeover is exposed. Apparently, the American public is not ready for an Eva Perrone moment: Perrone notoriously defended her personal extravagance by inviting the masses to live vicariously through her. "I do it for you," she claimed. Joe Sixpack and Hockey Mom don't seem to be carrying their identification with Palin that far.
Three..Two..One...Election Day! Some optimistic Democrat friends can't wait. More pessimistically, I suggest they enjoy the prospect of an Obama presidency while the hope is yet alive; if it turns the other way, they will have a long four years of disappointment.

A friend of mine is starting a new job on election day Tuesday- Ginny welcomes the timing because she hopes being busy will blunt the suspense of waiting for the outcome. "I can't stand it!" she frets, fingering her "Older White Women for Obama" button.
Everyone I know is suffering from the suspense. The Democrats aren't comforted by Obama's reported lead in the polls- we all remember 2004. It's not the Bradley effect that worries us; it's the Kerry effect: it seemed in November 2004 as if no one we knew was voting for Bush/Cheney Part II, and yet...
The Obama supporters are almost as worried about a win as about a loss. With the challenges ahead, two endless wars and an economic meltdown, how can a President Obama help but fail? And how will those disappointed expectations translate into an imptatient condemnation of Democrat and African-American leadership in office?
Why would any wise man wish to take on this overwhelming responsibility at this critical moment? If you were a 72 year old Senator McCain, you have nothing to lose; but if you were a young Senator Obama, why not wait another four or even eight years? The answer must lie in Plato's insight: when asked why the virtuous man (the wise, the good) would ever choose to spend his time governing, he replied: to avoid the fate of being ruled by the less wise and less good.

The last thing anyone might guess about me is that, twenty eight years ago when I first arrived with my family to the U.S., I spent several years as a hockey mom in the frozen north of Michigan's Upper Peninsula. It is a gross understatement to say that it was a culture shock to come from London and Cairo to the land of snowmobiles on the far shores of Lake Superior; or to say that I came across as an exotic creature with my tight skirts and high heels among the locals. The university faculty, like us, were mostly transplants, but the local population was Finnish, copper miners where the men, a generation out of work since the mines closed, tended to drink, and the women were hardworking and solid. They tended to be taciturn and slow-spoken, with a soft Finnish accent, and when they heard my name, they often commented: "Oh, a name from the old country, eh?" which surprised me till I realized that Saima (not Samia) was a common Finnish name.
No one locked their doors, and it was a safe place to raise children. My son played hockey from the age of four on, and we made a practice skating rink in the backyard by hosing hot (not cold!) water onto the freshly smoothed snow after the endloader had cleared it off. On the bleachers at the hockey rinks, I learnt to stamp my feet and clutch cups of hot chocolate for hours to keep warm while I watched my son play, but I never learnt to stop cringing when I heard another hockey mother shout: "Kill him!" "Hook him!" or "Sieve! Sieve!" I took that last chant personally, as my son often played goalee.
I learnt to love cross-country skiing, and to put up with shovelling snow off the driveway every morning, and to carry my dress shoes in a bag when I went out to dinner. But I never really got used to the isolation and the endless winters. When we moved to the suburbs of Boston, it was a fresh start for me. But my son the hockey player was happy to be able to continue to play hockey. It was only when we moved to North Carolina, where no one had even heard of Wayne Gretzky, that I encouraged him to drop hockey and take up soccer, and that was the end of my career as a hockey mom.
So ever since the Sarah Palin nomination, I have nursed my private perspective on hockey moms. By now I turn off the television whenever the oversaturated subject of the Palin phenomenon comes up. So why am I writing about it now? Because of something General Colin Powell said to explain his endorsement of Barak Obama. He said he was moved to do it by the sight of an American mother grieving at the graveside of her soldier son, killed in Iraq: a boy by the Muslim name of Kareem. Muslim Americans die for their country just like other denominations, Powell was saying, and the ugly rhetoric surrounding Islam in this campaign should be denounced. Obama is not a Muslim, Powell said, but the point should be made that there is nothing wrong with an American Muslim child today aspiring to be president one day. Perhaps that would be easier for Americans in general to accept when they realize that their Muslim neighbor may also be a hockey mom.

Oliver Stone's film, "W", seems to be both too early and too late. Too early for a biography of a sitting president; too late because he seems almost irrelevant at this point, as the nation tries to find out who Barak Obama and John McCain are. When reporters such as Bob Woodward and political operatives like Paul Begala can describe Bush in such strikingly different terms, the question is: who is the real George W Bush? Stone's atypical even-handedness does little to answer the question. Even more perplexing: how can a two-term president who has left such a dramatic mark, for good or for ill, on the awesome office of the American presidency still remain a mystery to his own people?

Here in North Carolina we keep hearing this is a battleground state; the fact that it's in play at all is is a first; NC has not gone to a Democratic candidate since Lyndon Johnson. But here in liberal Chapel Hill/Durham, it's Obama nation, at least on the surface. Obama fundraisers are full of over-educated white liberals who have already voted early; the challenge is turning out the unregistered African American vote. Yesterday at a Durham rally featuring some of NC's best-known writers, including Lee Smith and Alan Gurganus, the writers showed up but the unregistered voters they were intending to lead to the one-stop voting stations did not. Of the two African American faces there, one was a well-known writer himself and the other an elegant organizer. The Obama volunteers were baffled and frustrated. Where is this upset vote going to come from?
Perhaps from the student vote. James Taylor, NC's famous native son, is giving a free concert at UNC Chapel Hill to rally the vote for Obama.
Meantime, outside of the college town enclaves, red state America holds sway. Battleground state it is.

At a campaign rally at which an elderly woman whimpered that she was afraid Senator Obama was an "Arab", John McCain took the microphone from her and finally refuted the allegation his campaign has worked so hard to spread ever since he started losing ground in the polls. "No Ma'am," McCain shook his head, "he's a decent, family-man, citizen." Was that the real McCain, finally disgusted with the fear-mongering campaign strategy he has so far condoned? As much as what McCain said is what he didn't say. That an Arab, or even a Muslim, is not the same thing as a terrorist. He understood that in that old lady's mind, the conflation was complete; at least he exculpated Obama.
Perhaps John McCain was remembering that Obama was the first African-American to run for president. Or perhaps he was remembering history at that moment. That Leah Rabin, after her husband's assassination, blamed his enemies in the Likud who called him a traitor to Jews for trying to make peace with Egypt. Or that Anwar Sadat's assassination was incited by the ulema who quoted dubious fatwas justifying the assassination of a tyrant.
Perhaps McCain remembered all this, and heard the crowds at his campaign rallies yelling "Treason! kill him!" in response to the incendiary rhetoric from him and from Palin about Obama, and maybe John McCain finally decided that he didn't want blood on his hands.

Since this financial meltdown started, I wondered when we would know that this was it: the Great Recession, 1929. Did they know then, or did they only know when the bankers started to jump out of windows on Wall St? A little-noticed item on the news yesterday: a financier, out of a job for several months, shot his wife and children and then committed suicide. So I guess now it's official.
And if there was any doubt, today Fed chairman Bernanke made a speech that was the opposite of irrational exuberance, and as he spoke, on the split TV screen of CNBC, the DOW fell with every word he uttered.
Bernanke's address was incomprehensible to almost anyone outside of the circles of finance, and perhaps as a result, "Joe Sixpack" is still focusing on Sarah Palin's hairdo. Apparently Main St America has completely lost the distinction between the qualifications for an "American idol" and those of an American president. This is the result of the policy of teaching "self-esteem" run amuck: Ms. Everywoman Hockeymom is as qualified as anyone to step into the shoes of the most powerful leader on this planet.
Or is it the other America that will prevail on election day? What role will racism and xenophobia, "values" and militarism play in this election? At recent Obama fundraisers in my liberal enclave of the South, the participants were enthusiastic- and all white.
Meantime, on the other side of the world, Nero fiddles while Rome burns: the NYT had a video report on Egypt, and the over-the-top spending on luxury goods by a tiny fraction of the population while runaway inflation makes it hard for the poor to put bread on the table.

Last Sunday, millions of unsuspecting subscribers to the New York Times, to the Wall St Journal, to the Chronicle of Higher Education, and to regional newspapers, in swing states like my own North Carolina, received a toxic "free" DVD inserted in their morning paper. When it was played, it turned out to be an appalling piece of hate-mongering against Muslims and Arabs titled: "Obsession: radical Islam's War against the West". Despite the qualifier, the video tars Islam and Muslims in general with a broad fascist brush. The paid advertisement, funded by the usual Islam-bashing sources, implicitly endorses the McCain/Palin ticket as the best defense against this Islamic menace, according to most commentators who note that it is being distributed in swing states 50 days before the election.
Presumably this kind of toxic propaganda is protected under free speech, but it is deeply disappointing that a newspaper like the NYT that prides itself on its responsible, liberal position, would lend itself to this kind of base bigotry in the name of "paid advertisement."

The Arab American Writers Association is collecting books to donate to an auction for a synagogue in Arkansas- there's an interesting story behind this.

FAYETTEVILLE, Ark. (AP) - A Jewish synagogue is rising in the hills of Arkansas, in large part because of the generosity of the project contractor: a Muslim immigrant from the West Bank.

Since 1981, members of Temple Shalom have practiced their faith where they could. The congregation bought a home to convert into a temple, but members abandoned their plans after residents complained that the synagogue would bring traffic to their neighborhood.

The Reform congregation then bought new land - and Fadil Bayyari got involved. The Springdale, Ark., general contractor agreed to waive his regular fee, saving Temple Shalom at least $250,000.

"Abraham is our forefather," Bayyari said. "We're first cousins. How we got to hate each other is beyond me."

Bayyari, who built the mosque in Fayetteville, said his kinship with the Jewish congregation also stems from the fact that his faith community, too, lacked its own building until the mosque was completed.

Jeremy Hess, a founding member of Temple Shalom and the building project coordinator, said the synagogue will be open to all. He said working with Bayyari taught him that "you can't judge anyone except by the character of who they are."

Whenever I come back to the States after a two or three month trip, it is always disorienting, rather like an astronaut re-entering Earth's atmosphere. This time I have been gone the whole summer. After the relentless glare of the sun reflected off the Mediterranean, when I landed in cool, drizzly London, I felt as if I had fallen into Autumn in a matter of four hours and change. The first thing I did was to run out to a boutique on Old Brompton Rd to buy a long-sleeved grey twin-set, having nothing remotely appropriate for the weather in my suitcase. The second thing I did was to go for a walk in Hyde Park, drizzle or no drizzle. There is such pleasure in rediscovering public space: it does not exist in a poor country like Egypt. The well-to-do enclose themselves in well-appointed private space- resorts, compounds, clubs- but there is no public space- park, garden- that would not immediately be overrun by the poor and the homeless seeking shelter.
Speaking of public space, London in August- Harrods in particular- is overrun by Gulf Arabs. You don't have to be English to be taken aback by the hordes of black-abaya-clad women jostling in front of the Hermes counter.
Now back home in North Carolina, another disorienting move. It is still summer in September, and hurricane season to boot. The world is suddenly a much quieter, calmer place. The first day, running errands, I find myself wondering at the pharmacy check-out clerk who smiles at me and makes small talk and wishes me a nice day. Then I realize that I am the one who is out of sync; I must have seemed odd to him, rushing in and out.
A summer, a lifetime in the American electoral season. People ask me what do "they" think of Obama and McCain in the Arab world. The disappointing answer is that they think of them very little; like people everywhere, they are engrossed in their own politics and economic woes, and they don't believe that the choice of American president will make a substantial difference in U.S. policy in the region.
Egyptians, in particular, are focused on the alarming hyperinflation of the price of everything from bottled water to construction cement, and occasionally distracted by a major local scandal. The last day I spent on the beach here, the talk was all of a billionnaire Egyptian real estate mogul who had paid a hit man in Dubai 2 million to assassinate a beautiful Lebanese starlet, his former mistress. That particular local scandal made it to the pages of this week's Economist in an article about Ramadan, somewhat incongruously.
Speaking of Ramadan, this year the entire Islamic world seems to have agreed to start the Muslim holy month on the same day, September 1st. Yet there is no awareness of it in the media here in the States; nor do people seem to think of wishing their Muslim friends a happy Ramadan season, althought they take it for granted that those same friends will remember to wish them the best on Christian or Jewish holidays. President Bush did think of it, to the credit of whoever reminds him of these matters. But the days are long gone when Arab-Americans in the majority voted for the Bush/Cheny ticket in 2000.

The semi-official newspaper of Egypt, Ahram, looks like a real estate advertising supplement: every other page carries a full page, color ad for vacation homes in one of the new compounds on the Mediterranean coast, the Red Sea, or the new outer suburbs of Cairo. Much of the copy sounds stilted and translated: "You deserve your place in the sun"; "The symbol of your success;" "Spoiling your family is what it's all about." The ads seem to be targeting a new kind of Egyptian consumer, the "success story."
Nowhere is the conspicuous consumption of the "success story" more conspicuous than in Haciendas, the resort dreamed up by a group of Egyptians nostalgic for the secular, bikin-wearing Egypt of the Egyptian cinema up to the end of the seventies. The developer of the project is Mubarak's son's father-in-law, essential in a country where contacts are everything. The ostensible raison d'etre for Haciendas is for its homeowners to find themselves "entre nous", and the corollary of that is that this is the exclusive club for business contacts and matchmaking, equally important priorities.
Outside the walls, the world roils on, with sticker shock doubling the price of everything from eggs to beach chairs in three months. The newspapers acknowledge but downplay the inflation and economic crisis, but everyone feels the pinch.
On the other hand, the papers are full of the International Court's condemnation of Sudanese president Omar Bashir, a crisis provoking ambivalence: on the one hand, it is seen as an infringement on a sovereign nation, and as hypocritically selective against an Arab country. On the other there is frustration with Bashir's inability to equitably solve the problems of Darfur and the South; the gloomy expectation is that the Sudan, thanks to Bashir's wrong-headed and heavy-handed repression, will fall victim to Western plots to divide the country.
The contrast with the Western press could not be more complete: it is Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac and Obama all the time, with nary a mention of the Sudanese "crisis" that looms so large in the Arabic media.

The Egyptian papers are full of carefully calibrated reports on the current hotspots in the Middle East: the Mediterranean Union with Sarkozy and Mubarak as inaugural co-heads; the International Court’s condemnation of Sudanese president Omar Bashir; the bloody bombings in Iraq; domestic sectarian strife.
Coverage of the inaugural Mediterranean Union conference in Paris plays on the pride of Egyptians: President Mubarak of Egypt is the first co-host, with Sarkozy of France, of this new union of countries on the northern and southern rims of the Med. Cooperation between the two sides is proclaimed to be global, with the Arab members emphasizing economics and a resolution to the Arab Israeli conflict, and the European members emphasizing the environment and cooperation against Islamic terrorism. Both sides reiterate that the Med Union is not intended to sideline the Barcelona process, but the two initiatives clearly overlap.
Coverage of the current crisis in the Sudan is hedged with caveats: international interference to arrest or oust President Bashir can backfire and ignite another civil war in the region.
The latest bloody bombings in Diala province in Iraq add to the consistently gloomy coverage of the American occupation, with a photo of an American soldier, one foot on the neck of an Iraqi boy face-down in the dust, at the same time pointing his gun at a screaming woman on her knees.
A recent incidence involving a monastery and some Bedouin in Egypt is explained as a conflict over property rights and not an example of sectarian strife. Not that the media ignore the persistent tension between the Muslim majority and the Coptic minority in Egypt, a relatively recent and ugly tension on the rise over the past two decades. In fact the big movie of the month is “Hassan and Markosâ€, starring international star Omar Sharif and Egyptian comedian/producer Adel Imam. In the political drama, Omar Sharif plays a moderate Muslim scholar, and Adel Imam a moderate Coptic priest, who are forced to exchange identities in order to protect their lives from threats by extremists in their own communities. The message is as clear as the irony: the message is that Muslims and Coptic moderates must stand together and stand up to the extremists in their communities; the irony is that in real life, actor Omar Sharif is a Christian by the real name of Michel Shalhoub, and actor Adel Imam is a Muslim.

Egypt's Riviera, the minister of tourism calls it, and the Mediterranean coast west of Alexandria has its pretensions: a couple of hundred kilometres of turqoise sea and relentless sun dotted with resort village after resort village, some upscale, some not so much. Summer temperatures hovering around 33 degrees C, warm, humid air, redeemed by a constant sea breeze, a lazy summer schedule of shops and restaurants open till 1 a.m., endless choices of food and entertainment, children tanned to a crisp...young women in shorts and halter tops walking arm in arm with young women in headscarves. That's Egypt: too many anomalies to ever be postcard pretty, too many anomalies to ever be a tourist-dream Riviera.

I suppose the same goes for places as for people: we are often attached to them more for the sake of the memories of our youth than for their own. My first experience of life as an adult took place in London, and perhaps that is part of the reason it is my favorite city; but objectively, it is one of the most attractive cities in the world.
In spite of much of the same recession woes and fears in Britain as in the U.S., London seems full of incurable high spirits and good appetites. Shoppers jostle to snap up designer bags and bangles at Harrods' "there is only one sale"; afterward, laden with the trademark dark green bags, they squeeze into Mister Chow's banquettes for dinner, laughing and talking as if there were no clouds on the horizon. Around the corner a new superluxury apartment complex is rising in Knightsbridge overlooking Hyde Park; the top apartments go for 75 million pounds, and Russian billionaires seeking to shelter their money from their government are offering to pay cash. The new complex will now be the expensive in London, boasting the ultimate in unprecedented security installations, including a water supply system that senses any introduction of a toxic pollutant.
The new Heathrow Terminal 5, after a disastrous inauguration, is now up and running smoothly, a vast light space that is a delightful contrast to the cramped, crowded Terminal 4. The security personnel are positively relaxed and pleasant, and the idle vendors in the duty-free shopping galleries are happy to serve complimentary raspberry Green Goose cocktails.
The British don't speak of a recession- yet- only of a downtick, as if there were a chance that the gathering storm might never materialize. And indeed, the predicted rain holds off on Wimbledon weekend while one Williams sister beats another. So for another day at least, the doomsayers are held at bay.

Portland, Oregon, is officially the Rose City- more on that in a minute- but unofficially, it's a toss-up between the Polite City and the Clean City. The streets are of Singaporean immaculateness, as a simple comparison between impeccable Pioneer Square and funky Harvard Square will attest: not even a leaf off a tree seems to be allowed to settle on the ground. That is all the more remarkeable given the number of panhandlers on the streets, both young later-day hippies and genuine older homeless. But even the panhandlers, annoying as they are, are polite: they thank you even when you turn them down. Everyone is mellow and accommodating, even by my Carolina Southern standards.
The honor system is the rule on the TriMet light rail and bus services, and I have yet to see a conductor ask for a ticket. On the Washington Park shuttle that shuttles between the zoo, the Japanese Gardens and the Rose Garden, the driver/conductor welcomes all comers whether or not they hold a ticket.
The International Rose Test Garden that earns Portland its Rose City name is stunning: a vast terraced garden of thousands of rose bushes of every conceivable color, size and configuration, against a majestic background of gigantic Douglas firs and snowy Mt Hood in the distance. I am lucky enough to be visiting when the blooms are at their absolute perfect peak. Whoever said "a rose is a rose is a rose" never visited the Portland Rose Garden. And it is all free and open to the public, who bring children and dogs and picnics.
In contrast to the disorganized over-abundance that is the Rose Garden, the Chinese Garden in Chinatown is a study in design, balance and symbolism: yin & yang, plant and rock, water and wood, enclosed and exposed space, all linked by clever "leak" windows. A miniature imitation of an actual scholar's garden in China, it is designed to encourage reflexion and repose.
Downtown is a mecca of upscale shopping, contrasting rather oddly with the ubiquitous pandhandlers. But if there is a fault to find with Portland, it is that the (impeccable!) sidewalks are rolled up around 8 pm, when the shops close, or 9 pm, when most restaurants stop serving. Even Borders closes at 9 instead of 11 pm!

As of last night, Barack Obama is the presumptive nominee of the Democratic Party. I have mixed feelings for Hilary Clinton: on the one hand, sympathy and admiration, because all the other (male) candidates basically had to do was shave, choose a tie, and show up, whereas she had to appear beautifully turned out and made up, perfectly groomed, perfectly accessorized, and above all fresh as a daisy, day after day, hour after hour of an endless, grueling campaign. As someone said of Ginger Rogers, she did everything Fred Astaire did, only in high heels and in reverse.
On the other hand, there is great disappointment because of the way Hilary Clinton played the race card and the gender card. She is no Margaret Thatcher or Angela Merkel, rising through the ranks of the party on her own merits; she owes her candidacy to having been President Bill Clinton's wife. There is some hypocrisy there in taking full advantage of her position as First Lady, and at the same time claiming discrimination on the basis of her gender; and contradiction between touting her experience gained as First Lady and at the same time claiming to represent change.
It's also hard to watch what her campaign has done to Bill Clinton's legacy. View the clip of a much younger Bill Clinton making a speech: "There is nothing wrong with America that cannot be righted by what's right with America." That was charisma, that was glamor, there was "the natural" communicator. Skinny, big-eared Obama cannot compare with Bill Clinton at his age. It's hard to reconcile candidate Hilary's husband, who shamelessly plays the race card, with that Clinton. Or with the President Clinton whose post-presidency work includes a foundation, The Clinton Global Initiative, that supports so much good in the world, including a risk insurance program to encourage foreign investment in the Palestinian territories.
Speaking of which, I spoke with a very clever woman who is involved in the Clinton Initiative at a party in Massachusetts last weekend; a Hilary supporter, naturally, she told me she had heard that a conference of Arab media concluded that the American presidential candidate "the Arabs" would least like to see in the White House would be Obama, because he agreed to negotiate with Iran. Baffled, I asked her which Arabs she was referring to: Egyptians, Moroccans, Iraqis, Saudis? "The Arabs" speak with as many voices as there are states, and the governments rarely speak for their peoples. It was disconcerting to find my interlocutor, otherwise well-informed, under the impression that "the Arabs", or at least Sunni Arabs, would automatically be averse to direct diplomacy with Iran.
But as of last night, Obama is the nominee, and it is the end of the beginning of the real race to the White House.

The plans of scores of Palestinian Fulbright scholarship recepients were abrubtly dashed when they were prevented by Israel from leaving Gaza to travel to the United States to study. Nothing could be sadder, or do more to reinforce the reality that Israel is turning Gaza into a prison and following a policy of collective punishment. Sad and counterproductive: these students were the hope for much-needed mutual understanding between the beleagured Palestinians and America.

What was it about the year 1968? The May student revolution in France; the "Prague Spring"; anti-war student demonstrations here in the United States, and- as Senator Clinton memorably reminded us- the twin traumas of the assassinations of Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King. A sort of collective madness that seized the world, and youth in particular.
In Egypt too, the young had their 1968. It followed the shock of the unimaginable, utter and humiliating defeat of the Arab armies at the hands of Israel in the Six Day War of June 1967. A sizeable chunk of Egypt, the Sinai, was now occupied territory. In the months that followed, when it became apparent that the promised reforms were not materializing, that the public was being fed the same pablum as before, students at Cairo university and high school demonstrated and organized sit-ins on campus. Professors, walking into auditoriums to find a few students sitting patiently waiting for the lecture, admonished them to get out and demonstrate with their classmates.
President Nasser cracked down with police barricades and and tear gas and closed down the bridges, effectively shutting down Cairo. I remember being caught in Giza, on the far side of town from my home in Zamalek, and having to cross the bridge on foot to walk to a relative's house in Garden City. I remember stones flying about, and a student gallantly handing me a chair to hold over my head as protection. Students were not so much angry as high on the headiness of revolt, of a breath of freedom, having lived their whole lives under a regime that brooked not the slightest whiff of dissent. But the regime handled the student revolt with unusual restraint, wisely creating no martyrs, and making vague promises of reform. Nothing changed.
That was forty years ago. Egypt regained the Sinai, at the cost of a peace treaty that left the problem of a home for the Palestinians untouched. Today that problem is more intractable than ever, and an ugly wall separates Israelis and Palestinians. But today, as well, an Israeli/Palestinian web start-up has found a way to virtually penetrate that wall and link the two sides, Israeli and Palestinian, of the venture. The more things change, the saying goes, the more they stay the same, but I believe, the same in a different way.