I have been in Palestine for two weeks and one hour now, and I still have very few words to describe what I see. I don’t know if many of the children here have ever existed without tank-shell holes in their walls. You just can’t imagine it unless you see it. And even then your experience is not at all the reality . . . [due to] the fact that I have money to buy water when the army destroys wells, and of course, the fact that I have the option of leaving. I am allowed to see the ocean.—Rachel Corrie
On March 16, 2003, Rachel Corrie, a twenty-three-year-old American, was killed by an Israeli bulldozer in the Gaza Strip as she was trying to prevent the demolition of the Palestinian homes. My Name is Rachel Corrie is a one-woman play composed from Rachel’s own journals, letters, and e-mails—creating a portrait of a messy, skinny, articulate, Salvador Dalí-loving chain-smoker (with a passion for the music of Pat Benatar), who left home and school in Olympia, Washington, “to support Palestinian non-violent resistance to Israel’s military occupation.” The piece premiered at London’s Royal Court Theatre, with an award-winning, sold-out run, before its transfer to the West End.
