Introduction
I want to thank all those in Palestine who generously gave of their time to explain how the occupation affected their lives.
I am also profoundly indebted to Trisha Broke, who spent many weeks bringing my rough notes together to create a framework for this book; and John Stickney, for his wise advice and encouragement. Ellie Maxwell and Ben Courtney helped me to put this document on the internet in order to make it available to anyone interested in a just resolution to the Palestinian crisis.
1. Short Palestinian History
It is widely accepted, even amongst the most ardent supporters of the Israeli State, that the present situation in the area exists because of a territorial dispute. Furthermore, it is conceded that any resolution will require some acknowledgement of the historical context, and that the Palestinian case will need to be taken into account before a durable resolution can be agreed.
To understand more clearly why the resolution of these issues appears so intractable, I recognised it was important to speak to as broad a swathe of the population as possible. In so doing, I continually encountered allusions to past history with which I was either ignorant or confused.
Before I embark on my odyssey, therefore, I touch all too briefly upon the history of Palestine in the 20th Century. Avoiding the Biblical arguments upon which a small minority of Settlers base their claims to the West Bank and Gaza, I begin with the rise of Zionism and, following the 2nd World War, the pressure to present the Zionist case in terms of the Holocaust, thereby justifying unquestioningly the establishment not only of a state of Israel, but the continued expansion into the territory occupied by the indigenous people.
In Basle in 1897, at a conference attended by a distinguished gathering of European Jews, Theodor Herzl called for the foundation of a Jewish home. Argentina and Uganda were presented as possibilities alongside Palestine. There was by no means universal agreement on this issue. Jews had taken centuries to establish their position in Europe, and the establishment of a Jewish homeland would offer anti-Semites the opportunity to expel Jews whose understanding of their identity up till that time had been based on religion, not nationality.
Fast forward to 1915 when the upsurge of Arab nationalism coincided with the determination to overthrow the Ottoman Empire, aided and abetted by the British, who supported the Arab striving for independence. A the end of the 1st World War, and contrary to what they had promised, the British, Russian and French divided the Middle East into spheres of influence with Palestine under British Mandate.
Influenced by Chaim Weizmann, Earl Balfour wrote to Lord Rothschild in 1917 saying that he 'viewed with favour the establishment of a national home for the Jewish people' promising to promote 'the civil and religious rights of the existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine'. The Palestinians, who formed 92% percent of the population, were regulated and referred to as non-Jewish communities.
From 1917 till the General Strike of 1935, the Palestinians sent countless deputations to London and provided evidence for numerous Royal Commissions. The conclusion was always the same. The root of the problem arose from the Zionist movement and the continued expansion of the immigrant population. Increasing anti-Semitism in Europe and the refusal to increase the quota of immigrants in the Western World only intensified the tension.
With no concessions on the part of the British, a small band of Palestinians led by Sheikh Qassan eventually resorted to armed resistance. Killed and dismissed as terrorists by the British, the resistance signalled the opening of the Arab rebellion. With diplomacy no longer an effective tool, the Peel Commission's report was released in 1937. It acknowledged openly for the first time the inherent contradiction of the ideal: Arab self government alongside a Jewish national home.
Although the Jews owned 5% of the land, the commission recommended that Palestine be divided and the Jews given 50% of the land. Just before the outbreak of the 2nd World War, the British reversed their policy and in a White Paper limited the numbers of Jews who could enter Israel. Between 1932 –35, President Franklyn Roosevelt permitted only 14,000 Jews to enter the United States whilst 144,000 flooded into Palestine.
At the conclusion of the War, he offered the European Jews entry to any country they wished, from Ecuador to Newfoundland. This offer was dismissed as the target was Israel, and the Zionists renewed their demand for the withdrawal of the White Paper.
An exhausted and impoverished Britain acceded to these demands, which inevitably led to the establishment of a Jewish State. The circumstances surrounding this are referred to by the Palestinians as the Nabka: the Catastrophe. Irgun and the Stern Gang were the most notorious and effective terrorist organisations from which two future Prime Ministers, Shamir and Begin, emerged. Colonel Orde Wingate, a committed Zionist, had trained the young fighters, whose later actions included bombings in crowded urban centres and, most notably, the massacre of Deir Yassin. The latter so terrified the peasantry that the largely agricultural population abandoned their villages in droves.
Out-manned, out-gunned, and with no hope, the Palestinian peasantry stood no chance against the Israeli military might. The UN, under pressure from the United States, voted for partition. As the Mandate unfolded, the Zionists leapt into the void provided by the British, and the Palestinians were driven out of their villages, many to the refugee camps which still predominate in Palestine, Syria, Lebanon and Jordan two generations on. The Egyptians controlled Gaza, and Jordan the West Bank.
Whilst the Palestinians abhorred Jordanian and Egyptian rule, the upshot of the 1967 Six Day War proved to be immeasurably worse. The Israelis, having provoked Egypt into a war which necessitated the support of a large part of the Arab world, were infinitely better prepared and armed. The outcome was never in doubt, but the severity and humiliation of the defeat, continue to alienate the Arab World to this day. For the Palestinians it meant the West Bank and Gaza were to be occupied by a military force alongside an increasing number of Settlers composed of Ashkenazi Jews who had little or nothing to do with the local culture.
From 1948 to 1967, the Palestinians appeared to have remained relatively compliant. Of course the truth was entirely to the contrary.
The man who embodied the Palestinian struggle for statehood, Yasser Arafat, wrestled for over forty years to establish an independent state. His history is inseparable from that of Palestine from the mid-sixties to the present day. He was able to place Palestine on the political map through the Fatah Guerrilla movement, later the PLO (Palestinian Liberation Organisation).
Expelled from Jordan, the PLO set up a state-within-a-state in Lebanon. The ensuing Civil War drew in the Israelis, with the PLO withdrawing to Tunis. In 1987, the first Intifada began as a response to Israeli Occupation. The following year, Arafat declared Palestine an independent state. In 1993 Israel reached an agreement known as the Oslo Accord. The Oslo Accord recognised the right of Israel to exist, gave up claims to all but Gaza and the West Bank, and left to further negotiation the fate of 3.5 million refugees, the international borders of Palestine and the status of Jerusalem. It provided a platform for Arafat to return from Tunis but did little to forward the position of the Palestinians.
Arafat was elected President of the Palestinian Authority and awarded the Nobel Prize. Despite these accolades the political situation rapidly deteriorated. Benjamin Netanyahu, the then Prime Minister, continued to expand the settlements in direct violation of the Accord. Finally, set off by Ariel Sharon's provocative visit to Temple Mount 2000, the Palestinians launched the second Intifada. Two further attempts to broker a peace, Camp David and the Road Map, ended in failure. The former was a futile attempt which the Israelis managed to present as a most generous offer but which in fact demanded further concessions of land, the annulment of the United Nations Resolution 242 (which calls for the Israelis to withdraw from the territories occupied after the 67 War) and an abnegation of any violence without similar guarantees on the Israeli side.
The political situation unravelled fast; Temple Mount, Sharon, and the Second Intifada which Arafat could or would not stop. To suppress the Intifada, Israel mounted a brutal campaign whilst continuing to implement the strategy of building settlements, blockading villages, towns and cities, imposing martial law, imposing collective punishment, and impeding free movement. These policies led to economic hardship on a massive scale.
It was Arafat's tragedy that towards the end of his life, the debacle of the Twin Towers along with massive support from the Christian Right in the United States, provided a climate which enabed Sharon to label the nationalist struggles in Palestine as terrorism, which in turn resulted in the unquestioning support Israel receives in its policy of containment towards the Palestinians. It was often said by the Americans and the Israelis that they had no one with whom to negotiate. There are those who felt the reverse was true. Israel never produced a statesman capable of or willing to reach an agreement with the Palestinian President.
2. The Way to Hares (War is Declared)
In mid-March 2003, I agreed to fly to Palestine via Jordan in order to spend a month working with a group of non-violent protesters against the Israeli occupation, who had established a base in a small village north of Jerusalem. The timing was inadvertently significant. The advent of the second Gulf War was imminent.
After a prolonged and uncomfortable trip, I arrived at Amman in the early hours of the morning to find that four of my fellow passengers and I no longer had our suitcases. We were assured that they would turn up the following morning. Over the next four days I was repeatedly reassured that my case was on the next flight, that it was in Cyprus, that it wasn't in Cyprus, and a variation – that it had been delivered to Amman and it was the Jordanians who had lost it. Cyprus Airways is by no means the only airline to lose suitcases, but my position was complicated in that I had to remain in Amman till it was found, as my belongings could not with any certainty be forwarded on to Palestine.
Impatient to start on my journey, I was aware that Mr. Awni, the manager of Cyprus Airways in Amman, a stocky man whose craggy and expansive features hinted at the natural energy and warmth of the man, had gone out of his way to help me. Not only had be driven me to the airport and accompanied me personally through to the security areas, but, after it had become clear that I was going to be in Amman for several days, he had authorised a colleague to buy me a change of clothes. The airline agreed to contribute to my mounting hotel bill as well.
I was fortunate also in the choice of hotel where I stayed. The Hisham, owned by a distinguished and irresistibly charming Palestinian exile, looked after me impeccably. Many of the press corps and NGOs heading for Palestine or Iraq set off from here. The management was used to these setbacks and infinitely patient. When not on the telephone, I wandered around Amman, a town that hardly existed before the early part of the last century. Its newness and relatively clean appearance provided a sharp contrast to any other Arab town I knew. It would have been a lovely place to visit if that had been my intention.
Eventually reunited with my suitcase, I left for King Hussein Bridge. The usual questions: did I know any Arabs, and if so, would I write down their names? They call me to the kiosk, addressing me by my first name. I note this with some distaste and ask the young administrator why she would use my first name in these circumstances. She actually apologises.
Having negotiated customs, I intended first to travel to Jerusalem and then to Hares, the village where I was to stay. The taxi drivers at the Bridge were adamant that the charge to Jerusalem was several times more than I had expected to pay. A woman shrouded in a burqua offered to give me a lift to Ramallah, the cultural capital of Palestine and not far from Hares. Being unclear about travel, I felt safer going first to Jerusalem and so agreed eventually to the price the taxis were asking.
The evening I arrived was a time of considerable tension. I was staying at the Anglican Hospice adjoining St. George's Cathedral not far from Damascus Gate, and on arrival I attended evensong led by a young man not much older than my children. Short in physical stature, with an open face and a clear, direct gaze, he was a Palestinian Christian who had read theology at Cambridge and whose accent and manner, I ventured, had been markedly influenced by his time there. Apart from a volunteer I was the only other person in the side chapel of this dignified old church. Westerners and Christian Arabs were fearful of venturing out in this war of liberation that was regarded as blatant imperialism by much of the Arab World.
Father Yasud was a courageous man that night. None of us knew if Israel would be drawn into this war, and, if so, whether there would be a backlash in the Arab community against the Christian Arabs. Although visibly nervous, his tense expression and hurried movements betraying an inner agitation, the young priest spoke movingly of the civilian casualties that were likely to arise and evoked our prayers. When I asked him if he thought there might be a back lash against Christians, he dismissed the idea saying that the Christian and Moslem community were well integrated. Later, as we spoke in his office, he unconsciously reinforced this belief, showing me with obvious pride the photographs which had been taken when he visited President Arafat in Ramallah.
In the early hours of the following morning, the coalition forces started their first bombardment of Iraq, codenamed Shock and Awe. Soon after, I boarded my first Servis, the bus service used solely by Palestinians. I envisaged a long, dusty but relatively straightforward trip to Hares, which lay just south of Nablus, the economic capital of Palestine.
Arriving at Kalundia, the Clapham Junction of Palestine, we were required to change buses. Kalundia is a military check post and bottleneck between north and south which had been established minutes from the centre of Jerusalem. I had never seen anything quite like it. Dirt roads spiralled in all directions, carrying a muddle of vehicles and people. Merchants perched at the roadsides, hawking everything from fresh produce to shoes and children's cardboard games. Young boys who should have been in school sold chewing gum amidst clusters of Israeli army jeeps and looming watch towers. Armed guards quizzed people before allowing onward passage. The crowds were enormous: children, students, shrouded women, businessmen in smart suits, workmen and peasants. Every strata of society requiring passage through this junction seemed to be gathered together, anxiously and very noisily.
Knowing no Arabic, I approached people randomly, repeating the name Hares to passers by. Eventually, a man directed me towards buses lined up 100 yards from the checkpoint, one of which I boarded gratefully. Once inside, I met another young man who seemed familiar with the work of the organisation which I was joining. He proceeded to explain to several of his contemporaries on board how supportive that group had been the previous September, accompanying villagers to the nearby Salfit region to help harvest the olive groves. As I was now identified as someone here to offer solidarity and support, I found my fellow passengers eager to talk. 'Where are you from?' they all wanted to know. 'Scotlandia,' I replied, slightly stretching the truth. 'Ah, Scotlandia,' they sighed, with evident relief.
From there the friendly interrogation progressed to the number of children I had borne, my marital status, and whether I agreed that Bush and Blair were bad. Not much room for subtleties here. But then the subjects expanded. My neighbour, a portly young man in his twenties with an engaging smile, was educated in Baghdad at the oldest university in the world. He had received an excellent education there at the expense of the Iraqis, who accorded four hundred scholarships a year to Palestinian students.
Founded in the twelfth century and the most respected university in the Arab world, we were not to know that it was soon to be demolished by American bombardment.
This was my first bus trip, but I soon learned that, doubtlessly owing to the tensions in their lives, all Palestinian young men smoke heavily. On this and future occasions I arrived at a compromise. Windows open when smoking, closed when smoking stopped.
An hour passed as the bus trundled along, on a road which all Israeli cars have the right to use, but which is granted access only to those Palestinian buses with permits. We approach the next checkpoint, of which there are dozens along all major roads, and which are surprisingly common on the dirt tracks which constitute the majority of roadways allotted to Palestinians. The approach to the checkpoint follows what I will soon recognise to be a rigid procedure. The bus must draw to a halt about one hundred yards from a sentry post, where an armed young IDF* soldier stands behind sandbags. Eventually he beckons for the bus to approach. Ten yards from him we halt again. Our driver is required to disembark and hand over all ID cards and passports to the soldier. Several minutes later we are all required to get out of the bus where we stand in the open (rain or shine) till the conscript has gone through the IDs asking what appear to be irrelevant, even fatuous questions.
While this is annoying for me, I soon realise the checkpoints are a daily trial to the Palestinians. If their passes don't pass muster or if, for some reason, their responses to questions do not satisfy, they can be turned back or even imprisoned for up to six months without recourse to trial
Whilst peering at my passport, the soldier asks me what country I come from. 'It is a British Passport,' I respond 'and I am a British citizen.' My companions, the young men who minutes before in the bus either had been laughing at the irony and stupidity of the occupation or explaining issues of great import regarding the future of their country, now stand meekly before this young conscript, eyes cast down.
In due course we board the bus again. The sense of relief is palpable. My evident amazement at the absurdity of the checkpoint provides a further bonding. Within half an hour, we are approaching Hares, passing Ariel, the largest settlement on the West Bank. It is a vast fortress town on a hill surrounded by a motorway linking its inhabitants directly to Tel Aviv. The serried ranks of featureless houses covering the hilltops deface the Biblical landscape, a landscape which links us to the roots of our culture. New to this abrasive architecture, I ask how to differentiate Jewish settlements from Palestinian villages. As my companion explains to me, you can always spot a Palestinian town on the West Bank by the minaret towering above the concrete dwellings.
Since Israel's capture of the West Bank and Gaza Strip in 1967, the encroachment into the occupied territories by Israeli settlers has grown steadily, in strict violation of both the Geneva Convention and UN Resolution 242. At first, the settlers were almost exclusively right-wing religious zealots in pursuit of ideological convictions. By the 1970s, these had been joined by a more moderate, secular, apolitical sort of settler. The Likud government of Manachem Begin, keen to appropriate as much Palestinian territory as possible, invested heavily in the settlements' infrastructure and offered subsidised housing to all new residents.
Today, the contrast between the living conditions of settlers and the local Palestinian villagers is marked. One group lives in modern, comfortable housing, enjoys cheap rent and other financial benefits and, most importantly, priority access to the limited freshwater supply of the region, along with an immaculately maintained road and transport network linking them with Israel and Jerusalem. The other group does not. Whilst Israeli settlers are allowed to have guns, vote in elections and enjoy civil justice, the Palestinians must remain unarmed and unrepresented in the Israeli Parliament.
3. Arrival
As we approach Hares, the driver goes out of his way to drop me at the entrance to the village. Carrying my two cases, I advance towards the village, scrambling over mounds of mud and debris littering the path, the result of Israeli sent to block entrances to many of the villages on the West Bank.
The organisation I am assigned to is an international team of 16 women which documents human right's abuses and works with the media. It intervenes non-violently over human right's abuses and participates in non-violent direct action. It is located on the first floor apartment in a newly built concrete house at the end of a muddy lane, owned by one of the senior families in this village. The group of women who represent the organisation there do sterling work recording abuses and putting families in touch with human rights organisations, along with checkpoint duties, establishing contacts within the community, and daily press releases principally to the Indy Press. They are committed and undoubtedly brave. In the case of three, from South Africa, Italy and Germany, they are also highly intelligent. Unfortunately for me, the young woman who is directing affairs when I arrive is almost instantly hostile. There are without doubt any number of justifications for her attitude, but its effect was to severely limit the possibilities of my spending a fruitful period with this group. At first I was not clear what steps to take and thought it best to wait and see. By the end of the following week, when it became apparent that the situation would not resolve itself, an opportunity arose allowing me to absent myself from the house for several days. Fortunately this enabled me to remain in contact and at the same time use my stay more purposefully.
Whilst in Hares, I had the opportunity to meet the owner of the house which hosted the group. Abu R. is the eldest of nine sons and six daughters, whose father was a substantial landowner. The majority of his land had been confiscated, however, to accommodate the Settler Highway now encircling the settlement and cutting off direct communication with other Palestinian villages. The remaining members of his family live as best they can, scattered around in what we would regard as a family compound.
These Settler Highways are constantly being expanded, and land owners notified that their land is to be commandeered, with offers made for what is on them – olive trees or water pipes for example. The Palestinians refuse to accept the offers, however, as the land itself is their only possible livelihood. When the roads cut across fields, the farmer is not allowed to cross to the other side on the pretext of security. The settlers will shoot or attack and threaten farmers. They dig up their groves and start to farm the Palestinian land themselves. This is permitted by the IDF who are there, I am told with no irony whatsoever, to protect the settlers from the Palestinians.
Abu R., a commanding presence, addresses me in perfect English so quietly and cautiously that it is necessary to lean towards him to hear.. He sighs often and pauses as if to signify that searching for the suitable word requires a considerable effort ( I think briefly of Nelson Mandela, reputed to be very precise in his choice of words and meticulously tidy after living for so may years in a confined environment). Lean and taut, he is very good looking and possesses impeccable manners. He was imprisoned for fifteen years by the Israelis and, at the request of his wife, he invites me to look at the family album. Arafat is pictured greeting him as he is released and further on there are photographs of dignitaries who attended the banquet celebrating his release. Now his position is that of a Mukhtar, something akin to a Mayor, and his house is open night and day to people who come to solicit help and resolve disputes. It is his responsibility to act as go-between with the Israeli authorities. This often places him in a dubious position and must require great tact and restraint on his part.
One of Abu R.'s brothers has recently been disabled by the IDF. Shot through the shoulder, the bullet exited through his stomach, and he is condemned to a lifetime in a wheelchair. During my time in Hares, we frequently see his young wife wheeling him down the dirt path. The women in Palestine, I discover, rarely complain. They are stoic and brave. I have an abiding image of women carrying babies amidst the mess of their lives, crooning softly 'nam, nam', which means sleep.
Whilst at the house, we are most often in touch with Abu R.'s wife. A lovely doe eyed woman, who must have been extravagantly beautiful as a young girl, she has had much to contend with. At the time of her husband's imprisonment, she had a son of three years whom she had to bring up on her own. It is abundantly clear, as she sits beside her husband, gazing up at him adoringly and cradling their second son, that she regards him as a hero. As we are speaking and looking at the family album, Um R. discreetly absents herself, returning shortly in a caftan to make her oblations. In every village the muftis call the faithful to prayer five times a day.
4. Village Life
On the first morning I avail myself of the opportunity of free time and walk through the village. The streets appear drab and neglected. A number of houses seem to be half finished, work operations suspended because of the closures. Rubbish is strewn about, as there are no public services, and ubiquitous scrawny cats explain why the decaying food does not encourage vermin. Fridges, cookers, steel frames are lying around, seemingly discarded at random. Beyond the initial desolation lie cultivated fields, this being springtime, with broad beans as the principal crop. There is an abundance of wildflowers in the fields beyond the village and although we are experiencing a short-lived and unexpected cold spell, I am fortunate to be here during this brief interlude between the harsh, damp winter months and the unrelenting heat of the long, dry summers.
Initial appearances are deceptive, however. Despite the hardships, the interior of each shop is unexpectedly well stocked and there is a variety of vegetables, knick-knacks, hardware and pharmaceuticals stacked on the shelves. The shopkeepers greet you warmly, not in a supplicating manner, but simply reflecting Arab courtesy. By late afternoon, though, most of the goods remain in the stalls. After three years of closures, unemployment is endemic and there is no money to purchase the wares on display. The Israelis have destroyed the Palestinian Authority's records and files, and no pensions or disbursements can be made. Family networks do what they can, but overall the situation is dire with restricted movement impacting on just about everything. Doctors can only get to the villages one day a week if that, food and produce cannot be exported without permission, and when it is granted, it is inevitably held up at the border for hours and sometimes days, where it rots and decomposes.
Palestinians are predominantly rural and their distinguishing traditions and customs have evolved from these roots – glass making in Hebron, eye-catching pottery and embroidery, evocative music. The local equivalent of McDonalds is the falafel kiosk, where an aromatic concoction of grated vegetables and chick peas, and sometimes meat, is stuffed into pitta bread and served hot or cold. The Israelis, having discovered this cheap yet nutritious dish, now regard it as one of their own.
5. Checkpoints
When I rise the second morning, the cold and damp is at least no longer bitter. Initially reluctant, the team agree that I can accompany two of the members down to the checkpoint at a nearby junction. This entails a walk along the rocky path leading to a bus stop used by Palestinians. After a lengthy wait we board the bus and shortly thereafter we are deposited about a hundred yards from a checkpoint which we approach with caution. There we make notes about the numbers of people waiting, how long they wait, how many are allowed through, and why those that are stopped are prevented from continuing. Occasionally, when the reasons are so transparently without substance, the group will object.
The checkpoint reminds me of nothing less than Spielberg's film Schindler's List. A line of a hundred or so Palestinians - crippled, old, young, new born babies cradled by their mothers - have been waiting for over two hours before we arrive. They are not sheltered and are most inappropriately dressed to cope with the cold and the sleet that is beating down on them. The armed guards stand within their concrete bunkers, letting some of the assembled crowd through and turning away many others. We identify the main culprit, a Ukrainian guard who cannot speak Hebrew or Arabic. If anything needs explaining, he has no way of communicating and refuses to let the person pass.
Checkpoints have always been a feature of the Occupation, but since the Second Intifada they have multiplied many times over and emerge in the most unexpected places. The rational behind them is security. No Palestinians can travel from one town to another without a pass. They restrict free movement with all the economic and social consequences that implies.
On this one morning dozens of people are refused permission to pass. The first I encounter, a young man who is at university in Nablus, has been told by the guard that the university was closed. We rang the university on our mobiles and his professor said he was lecturing as we spoke. We called the District Commissioner, where the receptionist insisted her information was that the university was closed. We refuted that and on the second call she agreed to ask the DCL to come down. He arrives, a jovial young man with an open face, exuding bonhomie. If the circumstances were different, you might well remark positively upon his manner. He claps the guards on the back, they exchange jokes and he agrees that this young man can pass. I return to the queue to find the young man gone. I am told he has decided to walk around the checkpoint. This is very risky, as any Israeli army patrol that sees individuals skirting around checkpoints identify them as possible terrorists and will shoot.
Whilst the friendly DCL is there, I approach him concerning two further refusals. Two brothers are trying to get to hospital where a third brother lies gravely ill. There has been an accident and, with a rare blood type, he needs their blood. This is life and death, but because they have not had time to apply for a pass, a lengthy and often futile process, they have been turned away. The DCL agrees that they, too, should be allowed to pass. He returns then to his offices, leaving us in a situation that instantly reverts to hopeless shambles.
Just as we are leaving, a man approaches us in despair. He has a pass to visit his wife and their new born baby in hospital. He has been refused because he has forged the date – it originally read the day before. His explanation is that he indeed visited his wife the day before, but wants to see her a second time. A new pass requires a doctor's stamp, but doctors are overstretched and filling out all the necessary forms takes time, as does getting them faxed or posted back to the villages. In effect, it would be virtually impossible to get another pass issued rapidly. The guard understands this, but takes the high moral ground saying that this man was attempting to deceive him. He refuses to let him through.
A remark the same guard makes reveals an interesting mindset. He observes that nearly all the people here say they want to go to Nablus to visit the hospital, and concludes that they simply use it as an excuse. My companion points out that as the whole system of obtaining a pass is so onerous that one would embark on it only under dire circumstances, and that it was all too likely that these people were here precisely to visit the hospital.
6. A Visit to Riziq's Home
Every evening in the house, the team meets to discuss policies. As much of this is related to domestic concerns – perfectly valid with a group of people who are to spend several months together, often in precarious conditions – it is essential. As a brief visitor, I find the meetings tedious and am anxious to spend as much time as I can informing myself about conditions in the region.
In this spirit, the following afternoon found me walking briskly across the fields to a neighbouring village, accompanied by Laura, an Italian journalist and a member of a NGO (Non Governmental Organisation) who is staying in the house. We would not do this towards dusk because the settlers have been known to attack villagers who venture outside their compounds.
On the way I ask about something that has intrigued me.
'How come,' I enquire of my companion, 'in the midst of such deprivation you often pass several newly built village houses which are by any standards comfortable, middle class dwellings?'
She replied, 'Wealthy Palestinians living abroad started building before the present Intifada, (in Sept 2000 Sharon visited the Al Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem provoking an already tense situation and the military responded violently to the ensuing protests. Riots erupted and spread across the country. The resistance has continued for four years with severe economic and social consequences for the two communities) both as an investment and to provide the opportunity to return to their country in later years.'
The construction of these villas, which may be seen throughout Palestine, contributed significantly to the GDP during the years preceding the second Intifada (1994-99) when the Palestinian economy recorded an average of 8%-10% growth.
Arriving in the village, we head towards a bleak concrete structure and walk up steps to the first floor. Riziq, our host, greets us and leads us to an unadorned room heated by an ineffectual gas burner. There are no chairs, so we sit on rugs in the corner and are offered the first of many cups of strong, dark tea.
Riziq, who smokes continuously, is a lean, dark, intense man who represents an important link with the local community and keeps us abreast of the issues and significant developments. He is the local representative of the People's Party, a moderate wing of Fateh, which in turn is the political arm of the Palestinian Authority. Riziq holds down a job as a merchant and, to strengthen his position both economically and politically, is searching for an opportunity to take an MA at a European University.
As this is the first time I have been invited to a Palestinian home, I note with interest that his wife is dressed in slacks. She was brought up in considerable prosperity in Kuwait until the first Gulf War, when the Palestinian population was expelled as a result of Arafat's support for Saddam Hussein. Her family fled to Jordan and she eventually married Riziq. There is no sense of regret about the past and, talking to her, one is impressed by the love and pride she feels for her country. In a corner their daughter, a beautiful child, is studying and, aged six, has a pile of books in front of her which includes English language books. Over and over again in the coming weeks I will encounter this thirst for education and the priority it takes over all else in the lives of Palestinians.
The purpose of this visit is to discuss the Intifada, and Riziq reflects upon the success of the first one. It was non-violent, alerted the West to the abuses of the illegal occupation, and united the Palestinians. The Oslo accord was a direct if limited result, intended by the Israelis and Americans to pacify the population whilst according the minimum of concessions. Frustration mounted, and the second Intifada was and is a much more violent affair. From Riziq's point of view, it is also less benefit to the Palestinian cause and the economic implications are catastrophic.
When Laura and Riziq finished talking, he took us across to see a family in great distress. They were assembled in their front room. Six or seven of the family members were seated in chairs, which hugged the wall. We were seated either side of a grieving mother. Her husband who was recovering from a heart attack was seated opposite in his dressing gown. Several of the children and a sister in law with a young baby, along with a family friend, were also present. Tea was promptly carried in on a tray, this time heavily minted which made it a good deal more agreeable.
The issue concerned her young son who had been picked up at a checkpoint several days earlier on his way back from university. No explanation had been forthcoming, and so far they had been unable to discover where he was being held. The Israeli authorities would not have to charge him or bring him to trial for six months and, when the date eventually arrived, the trial easily could be postponed. The mother was distraught and could not understand why this should happen. In one of those revealing details that enable a stranger to connect with a tragedy like this, she remarked that she had always given him a warm breakfast before he set off for university. She said she hadn't slept since his arrest imagining what his captors might be doing to him.
His photograph was before us – a gentle and smiling face. He was studying for a degree in technology. Laura revealed that many of the young men picked up by the Israelis were studying technology. The Israelis cited security fears for their actions.
Laura explained, 'The prevailing view is that technology students pose a threat on two counts. The first is that they are capable of developing explosive devices. Secondly these are the cream of the student body who would enable Palestine to develop into a sustainable, viable and independent state in the future. This is not something Israel wants.' She added, 'These random arrests at the checkpoints have become so frequent that it is estimated (by whom?) that 40% of Palestinian youths will be imprisoned at one time or another.'
Laura sympathised and gave the family the number of a human rights organisation, Hamoked, which should be able to arrange a legal representative to take on the case and at least was usually successful in locating the host prison. These cases are further complicated by the fact that the Israelis are not required to reveal the offence with which the person has been charged. The lawyer has to prepare a case without adequate information. It was with a heavy heart that I noted how this family relied on Laura. Here were people who were respected in the community and had been clearly successful in their endeavours, and yet, when a most basic right was denied them, had no idea what to do. The only person there to help them was this young visitor from Italy.
As it was dark by now, we judged it unwise to return on foot across the fields and found a villager who agreed to drive us back to our lodgings.
7. Conversations in Salfit
The following day I arranged to go to Salfit, the principal town in this central region, to talk in English to several women who had linked up with IWPS. Although in theory only twenty minutes from Hares, I allowed an hour. Armed with Edward Said's Orientalism, I boarded one of the local vans that pass for a bus. Its driver followed the motorway for five minutes and then abruptly turned off onto a dirt track. A broken down car ahead held us up for half and hour and then, as we descended a sharp incline, the bottom of our vehicle was damaged by scraping on a boulder. We got out and walked towards the next junction. There I boarded another bus.
Approaching Salfit, I noticed a stir in the back of the bus People were looking amused and I asked my companion the cause of such mirth. He pointed to a donkey on the road that had collapsed under the weight of the burden it was carrying. The hapless beast's ancient master was gradually removing some of the kindling, enabling the animal to stand under the weight. This episode underlines the Palestinian attitude to animals. A donkey collapsing is like a car breaking down. In this country, where life is so stark, there is little sympathy to spare for animals.
Although this region has more water than anywhere else in Palestine, Salfit proved to be a sun bleached town, unduly dry and arid, a reflection of the imbalance of the water distribution. The town consists of a main street with several shops, a newly built university, which we would regard as a technical college, and several residential streets giving off the centre. The fruit and vegetable stalls looked immeasurably better than those in Hares, and I intended to stock up on tomatoes and aubergines before leaving.
Whilst waiting for my meeting, I sat in the university canteen. I thought I should alert my hosts that I was there and dialled on my mobile, but as my server was Jawal and theirs was Orange and neither seemed to connect to land lines here, I was unable to speak and resigned myself to waiting in the university cafeteria. Whilst reflecting on the absurdity of two servers not being able to make a connection, two students came and sat with me.
They were young girls who were studying technology. They were very gentle and extremely curious about life in the West, and delighted to speak to someone from abroad. Despite my protestations, they insisted on buying me crisps in the canteen. Although swathed in veils, they showed me formal photographs that had been taken in their homes, in which they were shown wearing evening dresses and fully made up to be very glamorous. Several young girls had shown me this type of photograph, which indicates that whilst in public they choose to dress discreetly, in the privacy of their homes they enjoy dressing with great flair. It occurred to me that these two girls could have been sitting at a soda fountain in Los Angeles, and that the only thing that separated them from thousands of other young girls of their age was the isolation that Palestinians have imposed upon them.
Both spoke English well, but the subtleties eluded them in a rather endearing way. After talking for half an hour, they both exclaimed, 'Virginia, I love you!' which I took to approximate with the French 'je vous aime', in which case 'like' might have been more appropriate! They both hoped to enter the professions when they left university. Again and again I met bright young students like these, who retained hope in the future of their country and often suggested they might like to go abroad for further education. I never met one, however, who suggested that they wanted to emigrate.
At exactly the time arranged – to my surprise – a battered car drew up, and the driver called me over. We were to go to the family home, with a brief detour to show me a home for disabled youngsters. This was entirely unexpected and clearly a great honour. I arrived to see perhaps fifteen young boys and girls sitting on a variety of chairs neatly arranged in rows outside a small house. They had several carers, all women, who appeared to be very affectionate and attentive. The director came over to me. She was a fragile and rather striking woman, distinguished by her elegant manner and sophisticated attire, and could have been receiving me in a salon in Beirut. We walked through the house, as she explained that the Palestinian Authority financed the home, and that the children were cared for until the age of sixteen, when they were returned to their families.
It would be impossible to overstress the simplicity of what I saw, but that notwithstanding, the home appeared completely suited to the needs of the children. There were two dormitories with little beyond beds and wardrobes, a dining room with long plastic tables, a recreation room which included games and a television ( I couldn't imagine what the local station might provide beyond Israel and American sit-coms) and finally a room where they were taught rudimentary skills. In one corner there were several antique sewing machines with a sample display of work. What the young seamstresses may have lacked in skill was more than compensated for by their pride. Whilst the creature comforts may have been rudimentary, I doubt that any highly equipped equivalent home could compete with the evident love and care that was being shown towards these children.
I spent the rest of the afternoon with the family I had arranged to meet, who wanted to engage in conversation. We sat on comfortable sofas and chairs in a sunny room and after offering me tea, I intended the afternoon to be devoted to readings from Said. I am afraid it was not entirely successful. Firstly, the three women, two sisters and a friend, spoke a more rudimentary English than I had realised, and translating the subtleties of Edward Said was not appropriate. Secondly, and more interestingly for me, their mother, who came in shortly after I arrived, had her own idea of how the time should be spent. She greeted me politely, and with no more ado turned on the television. Against the background of a blaring television, her daughters and I took turns reading Edward Said. None of the three younger women showed the slightest resentment, demonstrating the tremendous respect shown to the aged in Arab countries. However admirable this may have been, competing with an Israeli soap opera prevented me from engaging in any useful dialogue.
On the way home, I was fortunate in finding a direct bus. We had travelled for twenty minutes or so and were approaching an overhead bridge, which served no purpose and had probably been left over from the time of the British Mandate, (Between 1922 and 1948, the term Palestine referred to all of what is now Israel, the West Bank, and Gaza; and was used by both Arabs and Jews without any ethnic connotations) when we encountered an unexpected checkpoint. Two soldiers stood in front of the bridge and a further two were on either side of the track. All had AK-47 rifles directed at us. Two of the soldiers wore those wrap around dark glasses, which I find so threatening. We followed the usual process of waiting till we were beckoned forward. The driver got out with six IDs and my passport. One of the soldiers, coarse-looking and threatening, ambled forward, small eyes taking us all in at a glance, fleshy lips mouthing what he read. For the first time in this country, I feel real fear.
Having examined all the documents, he off-handedly wishes us 'a nice day' and we are allowed on our way. Just past earshot, the passenger in front of me, who has been silent till now, peers round at me to say, 'Excuse me, Madam, but what an arsehole!' The passenger next to me adds, 'He only wished us a nice day because you were on board.'
8. Thoughts on the Occupation
Arriving back at Hares, we find that one of our team has spent the night in Tulkarem, a town to the north west of us not far from the Israeli border, where over a thousand people were removed from their homes by the Israeli military in the middle of the night. This included families with newborn babies. Their houses were ransacked and vandalised and they were not allowed to return for three days. These incursions into villages are carried out regularly. In some cases there are genuine security concerns, but all too often they are used to disrupt and terrorise the inhabitants. On this occasion for example a number of soldiers smashed windows, broke down doors, and damaged furniture. All in the name of security.
To begin to understand the mind-set of this army of occupation, one has only to look at the behaviour of the soldiers. Two boys were taken by the IDF and placed at either end of the town, far from their homes. The town was under strict curfew, which meant that the boys risked being shot if they attempted to get back to their houses. This is one example of behaviour on the part of the military reveals a petty malevolence which is out of place in a disciplined army.
I am only just beginning to understand what this occupation means. I read an explanation by Ghassan Andoni, professor of physics at Bir Zeit University, a key Palestinian leader in the non-violent resistance movement and co-founder of the International Solidarity Movement. He speaks of the 'logic' of the occupation and what it means to both Israelis and Palestinians in a recent (May 2004) e-mail from the International Middle East Media Centre.
'Colonial occupation centres on two objectives: control and expansion. From 1967 onwards, Israel could justify the occupation from the point of view of economic advance. Palestine changed from being a very backward country to a far more advanced economy, so Israel could claim that the Palestinians were far better off as a result of the occupation. Until the first Intifada, Palestinians in Israel (as opposed to the Palestinian Diaspora) largely accepted the occupation. Nevertheless over 600,000 Palestinian men had been arrested on one pretext or another. That represented one third of the population and points to the restrictions and intimidations that are required to establish and control a 'quiet' population.
'The purpose of this control is expansion. As the occupying forces grew more confident, they increased their expansion, which eventually resulted in the explosion of the first Intifada, a relatively non-violent engagement on the part of the Palestinians. Avron Truaring, an Israeli who served in the army during the first Intifada, testified that the Israeli response was to exert extreme force.
'The economic and social price paid for the first Intifada led to the Oslo process. Whilst the West greeted this as the first step towards an independent Palestine state, Truaring asks us to bear in mind that the Israelis saw this as a tactic. Even their left wing continued to consider that Palestine was 'theirs', and so control and expansion continued apace during the process.
'The second Intifada, therefore, was inevitable. Israel's response was brutal, as confirmed by a recent report from Amnesty International.
'The majority of Palestinian children have been killed in the Occupied Territories when members of the IDF responded to demonstrations and stone throwing incidents with unlawful and excessive use of lethal force. Eighty Palestinian children were killed by the IDF in the first three months of the Intifada alone´,
The massive use of force in densely populated civilian areas led to huge civilian casualties. After a few months of Sharon's succession to the Presidency, the Hamas suicide campaign began in earnest, with popular support. From the Palestinian perspective, Hamas terrorism is morally equivalent to Israeli state terrorism, and Israel's response to suicide bombers is retribution rather than resolution.
The logic of occupation seems flawed, however. Violence breeds violence in perpetuity. Andoni argues that violence will end only when the state of Palestine is established without pre-conditions. The occupation must end, and in pursuit of that he would encourage a popular but non-violent uprising.
9. A Rainy Day in Nablus
It is a cold morning with intermittent rain. The streets of Hares are deserted. We decide to go to Nablus, to meet up with ISM (International Solidarity Movement, set up jointly by Ghassan Andoni and a European colleague as a non-violent protest against the occupation) activists and explore ways of helping children to continue an education which is being disrupted severely by the occupation. I resolve to buy an umbrella, never having imagined that Palestine in March could be so cold or so wet. It has been explained to me that there is an all too brief spring and autumn, and that I should prepare for a radical change within days. This is hard to believe as we wade through the mud.
We take a taxi waiting at the edge of the village. For no apparent reason we are dropped about half an hour's walk from our destination. Walking in the pouring rain, I can only speculate why the driver took advantage of our ignorance to drop us so far from the next pick up point. Perhaps he was getting his own back for all the broken promises made by the West.
The economic capital of the country, Nablus was founded by the Romans, conquered by the Arabs, only to be taken by the Crusaders until falling eventually to Saladin, the renowned Islamic leader, in 1187AD. For centuries a small clique of families, whose wealth is derived from wheat and olives, has controlled the agricultural economy along with trade and manufacturing. The university, Al Najah, is the largest in Palestine and has been a hotbed of discontent since 1967. Israeli policy has overseen a sharp decline in the economy. With exports restricted, subsidised Israeli products have flooded the markets, and the successful match factory has closed.
Arriving at the outskirts of Nablus, we head towards the old town. My first impressions are not favourable. It is difficult to determine how much of this is owing to the occupation. There is plenty of activity, with streets crowded with cars, carts and donkeys, and people sporting a mixture of European and Arab dress. But there is an unremitting greyness in the modern part of the town. Once we reach the old town and start walking though the covered souk, I feel much more at home. The bustling stalls and cubicles are reassuring. I still marvel at the radishes, which are the size of melons. There is certainly no lack of produce here, but again the issue is one of money, and buyers are few.
The meeting takes place in an old Ottoman mansion. We climb up the stone steps to the main room. Architecturally it is a noble house, but in a sorry state. We number about ten, several Americans, several French and a handful of English. The numbers are sorely depleted owing to the war. No one is specifically in charge, but two people dominate. One is Chris, a burly, rather scruffy middle-aged man from South London. In an earlier life he had been a social worker. His manner is gruff and he has no time for the Israelis. Despite his undoubted integrity, I don't warm to him. Instead I am drawn to a young Palestinian. I believe this house belongs to his family. He has a quiet authority, and tries to draw a positive message from this meeting.
Most of the talk is pretty negative: merited criticism of the Israelis, disappointment at the limited number of peace activists in the country, the consequent lack of success with several initiatives. I feel the young Palestinian would prefer a less ragged army. Why are there so rarely any people with economic or political clout at these meetings?
One young man is particularly critical of U.S policy in Iraq. For most of the meeting, he sits apart, sullen and silent. He is very good looking and, unlike most of the people in the room, is wearing clean clothes and is well presented. I am curious, and when the meeting is over I go over to talk to him. He is indeed American and outraged at the war. Although the outcome of the war is inevitable, few people know how long it will go on.
'I want to see the U.S. given a bloody nose,' he informs me.
Whilst understanding his anger, I suggest, that 'I want a quick victory to curtail civilian casualties.'
A week later, I learn that this young man is Brian Avery from Alberquerque, New Mexico who was badly disfigured when an Israeli soldier targeted him whilst he was trying to protect children.
That evening we returned to our lodgings soaked – despite my having found a very handy little umbrella.
chapter1chapter2chapter3chapter4chapter5chapter6chapter7chapter8chapter910. Laura's Protest
Laura, the Italian journalist, has spent several weeks organising a long-term demonstration to protest against the separation wall (the concrete wall extending along the 67 borders between Israel and Palestine and widely contested as it is seen by Palestinians as an exercise in land grabbing) and the digging up of olive groves on Palestinian territory. We leave early, travelling by a small van to the village where the protest will begin. There is a brief moment of humour as we note that the Israelis have set up a checkpoint on the opposite side of the road, being misinformed about the location for the protest. So we sail past. Riziq, the local representative of the Peoples' Party( a moderate branch of Fatah) that I had met earlier, joins us with about twenty local farmers he has brought with him.
The courage of the local population cannot be overestimated on these occasions. It is not in the least unusual for one or two protesters to be wounded or killed during exactly this sort of peaceful protest. As Westerners, we can come and go and are rarely targeted by the army. For any Palestinian participating in a protest, there is genuine risk.
Several Israeli Peace Activists join us, as do fifteen Muslim women who, whilst friendly, grouped themselves at a distance. The Israelis are very interesting and include a young woman who organises tours to homes in Jerusalem which the Israelis have demolished, to demonstrate what damage her fellow country men are doing. Tanya Reinhart, a noted Professor of Linguistics in Tel Aviv and regarded as the Noam Chomsky (Professor of Linguistics and a severe critic of American foreign policy) of Israel, is also here. She appears a rather eccentric figure, sporting a floppy hat and very large dark glasses. She was one of the signatories of the petition to boycott Israeli universities last year in protest at the Likud's policies.
Many regard Reinhart's book, unimaginatively entitled Palestine/Israel, as the clearest and most damning exposition of Israeli occupation. In one chapter she exposes procedures which train the military to disable civilians. This includes shooting to blind or inflict spinal injuries The evidence to support this is clearly presented in the book, and the training's purported purpose is to limit the death statistics – wounding is far less alarming for an attentive world's press. I am glad to see the press clustering around her later on in the afternoon, as I know what she says will be given coverage.
Another young Israeli joins us. She wears a shirt with 'Queers for Palestine' emblazoned on it. I ask why, if homosexuals have so long petitioned to be called gay, one would revert to a term that was used pejoratively? It is her opinion that by adopting these words gays have diffused them of their sting, and have thereby empowered themselves.
During the course of our conversation, she made an illuminating point.
'It was the Ashkenazi Jews,' she said, 'along with the military body in the country, that were responsible for the present dreadful state of affairs. The Sephardic Jews had lived side by side with the Arabs for centuries, but peace would not be achieved till the Ashkenazi Jews recognised that Israel was part of the Middle East and not an extension of Europe and America.'
When everyone is accounted for, we start to march towards the spot where the olive trees are being torn from their groves. I walk alongside an American woman.
'I have lived here for thirty-five years and I am deeply distressed by events,' she tells me.'
After walking for half an hour, we reach the olive groves. Tents are set up for the long haul. Several people make speeches, which are recorded by the media. The majority of us, perhaps 100, sit on the slopes under trees, shading from the sun. Small groups of people gather to talk and congratulate themselves on the success of the march.
It has been a blindingly hot day, and towards the afternoon I find I am dizzy and faint. Reluctantly I leave to return home. I intend to find a bus but, as always seems to happen in this surprising country, a car pulls up in a matter of minutes and the young men inside insist on driving me to Hares.
11. Social Life in Hares, and Um R.
That evening I climbed out on to the roof to look out across the village. The six or seven houses that surround ours represent the family compound, each belonging to a member of the extended family. Children run up and down the paths and a group of a dozen men are sitting chatting in front of Abu R.'s brother's house. The women of the family remain indoors. Elsewhere, another group of men are gathered in front of the grocery shop. Two sisters carrying toddlers walk down the path towards a field bordering the Settler Highway. This is risky. Settlers have been known to shoot Palestinians from their cars. The calm, united setting is idyllic. One reflects but for the Occupation...
Abu R.'s wife silently draws near. Um R. is a lovely woman, seldom parted from her three-year-old son. We cannot speak to each other, but we hold each other in mutual respect. She sees me as the senior member of the group, I am told, and as the cook, a role I rapidly embraced after my first two meals here!
Last night, I cooked a farewell dinner to thank Um R. and her husband. Despite the deprivations faced here, it is incumbent on one to provide a vast spread if you have people to a meal. When I was buying the bread – the large flat unleavened bread people eat in this country – I asked for eight. The vendor asked how many people were coming, and then advised me to double the number. Ironically, this does not mean that what you cook will be eaten, as it would be insulting to eat it all. So there is now food for the group for at least another couple of days.
Earlier in the week when we were invited to lunch, we asked Um R. if she visited friends in the village, or in neighbouring villages, thinking of the Palestinian practice called Istiqbal, a woman only reception held in the afternoon.
The Intifada, with its closures, precludes any visits to neighbouring villages, she explained. For the moment her life is largely confined to her family. During the course of the luncheon, an old peasant woman arrived balancing a large basket of cheese on her head. She was respectfully received and offered food and drink.
I feel a real affection of Um R. She adores her children and is hugely proud of her husband, a war hero in the context of Palestine. She gets on well with the extended family, with whom she lived for the 15 years of Abu R.'s imprisonment. And she has been amply rewarded. Her house is one of the largest in the village and, in contrast to our spartan flat, the downstairs is both elegant and well equipped. The kitchen is practically wall-to-wall and the sitting room is decorated with enough swags and flounces to make a Hampshire housewife proud.
12. Interlude on the way to Qalqilya
I am visiting Qalqilya for the second time. A town of 42,000 Moslems, it is by now probably known world wide for the wrong reasons. Situated near the green line (the line drawn detailing the sixty-seven borders), it has been surrounded entirely by the Israeli separation wall.
The Israelis argue that the move is necessary to prevent terrorism. The Palestinians say it is an illegal land grab.
Predictably, I have spent several hours getting here. I was late in starting and found myself leaving Hares with the likelihood of no public transport being available. At that moment, a smart car appeared driven by a representative of an NGO and the driver, a young man wearing a stylish fashionable suede jacket invited me to 'hop in'. It turned out he was on his way to Qalqilya to represent his NGO. That saved me three to four hours on public transport, and I was extremely grateful.
My chauffeur explained that his charity created jobs for the unemployed, and that at present he was much involved with Qalqilya. His organisation employed people there to clean the streets, build walls, and do menial tasks within the city walls. The people were so poor that they could barely feed themselves. Of one family living in two rooms, with whom he had lunched, he exclaimed 'you could hardly imagine!' as he described the meagre rations, the stifling two rooms, the kitchen brimming with children. The father had worked in Israel. There he earned two hundred shekels a day. In Palestine, if he could find the work, he earned fifty shekels.
The young man came from a family of eleven Moslem children. He was very good looking in a Mediterranean sort of way and, not surprisingly having spent eight years studying in Venice, had picked up a lot of Italian mannerisms. He did not want to talk seriously about the situation and preferred to keep the conversation light – understandable given the daily difficulties he must face. I wondered if he was a bit frivolous.
Then one of those revelatory moments: We are approaching a checkpoint. I have always made a point of showing, as much as I am able, my disapproval of these military checkpoints, but he has asked me to look as friendly as possible. He jokes with the guard and shows his pass and we go through. He explains to me that he, too, hates the military, but does not have the luxury of showing his feelings. It reminds me of an article written by Robert Fisk,the Middle East correspondent for the Independent, in Iraq, describing how an American soldier had explained to him how much the locals in a particular part of a city liked the Americans. Later, talking to a translator, Fisk was given a very different story.
When we reach our destination, I ask my new friend if he would join me for a cup of coffee. We sit, and now he is more open.
'Before going to Italy, I was imprisoned in the Negev. During the first eighteen days, there were beatings and interrogations, and then the tedium of months and months in the desert, suffering from either extreme heat or severe cold.'
A few minutes later responding to my question regarding the suicide bombers, he replied enigmatically, 'People often misunderstood that things that were bad for Israel were not necessarily good for Palestine.'
'The situation is reversing rapidly in Palestine. The settlements are expanding (at the time of writing (Nov. 2003) the Israeli Knesset has just voted a further $50,000,000 towards expansion of the settlements in the West Bank in direct contravention of the Road Map (Washington's latest attempt to resolve the problem) and the Palestinian villages are becoming so severely cut off that Palestinians are becoming settlers in their own country.'
When I brought up the question of Moslems and Christians, he declared confidently 'There is no barrier between the two.'
Everyone I speak to views this differently, but I try to discern a pattern. It is the educated Moslems who are adamant that there is no barrier, whereas the Christians, particularly in respect of their daughters, stress that there are cultural and often social differences. What lies beneath the surface? Perhaps one could borrow from Golda Meir and Ben Gurion, who described Palestine as a country with no people and Israel as a people with no country. The Christians are affirming that it is they who have been here since Roman Times, and that it is important to their continued survival that they preserve their identity against a cultural merging with the Moslems. Yet both Christians and Moslems are united in wishing to confirm their Palestinian identity, but underlying that unity of purpose the social divides exist.
Why had my friend left Venice and returned to Palestine? Like so many young men I had spoken to, it was his mother who drew him back.
We both had appointments to keep, but almost as an afterthought he revealed to me that the Israelis had killed his brother and it was not the Jews he hated but the Israelis. So this outwardly carefree and droll young man was, after all, like virtually every one I was to meet, deeply scarred by this Israeli occupation.
13. Qalqilya: The Wall & the Ghost Town
Before entering the town I have to get past another military check point, with the now familiar robotic guards grilling me. The town is a ghost town. The main thoroughfare leading into the centre is deserted apart from the odd car or bicycle. The cubicles are closed, the streets deserted and there is noticeably less activity than on an earlier visit. On this occasion I go directly to the Press Officer's work place. At the Town Hall, Mr. Jaloud, the Press Representative, and his secretary surprise me by not only remembering me from my previous visit, but also by greeting me with great warmth. The wall is the all-consuming topic. It is February 2004 and the International Court of Justice is meeting to discuss the wall, and Britain is not dignifying it with a presence. This, despite the assurance that one of the objectives of the war in Iraq is to move the peace process in Palestine forward.
Despite his delicate looks, Mr. Jaloud radiates vitality and good will. He and his wife were one of the many Palestinians expelled from Kuwait in the First Gulf War. They managed then to re-build their lives in Qalqilya, and are now experiencing the destruction of all that they have so carefully constructed. He has a pile of papers on his desk, all awaiting authorisation. It appears that it is he who has the authority to provide passes for hospitals, schools and trips, and for the all-important water applications. Colleagues walk in and out, and several people are talking to his assistant at an adjoining desk. The office is a hive of activity and a congregation point for anyone who has business with the Mayor.
He suggests that the first priority is to go and see the wall for ourselves. He rings for the mayoral car and off we go. He is visibly nervous as we approach, and the driver is instructed to park in a position that is well hidden. We get out and go along a dirt track with olive trees on either side. The wall looms in front of us. It is built like a four lane highway, flanked by twenty foot high double steel mesh fences, topped with high tension wire, interspaced with cameras, sharp shooters positions and a few gates. It is the most formidable prison camp perimeter fence I have ever seen
We talk to a farmer who is standing regarding what was his olive grove. He has had most of his land confiscated by the Israelis to construct the wall.
He tells me 'They dug up my pipes and irrigation.'
We look at broken pipes lying piled high by a tree.
'They offered me money for the pipes. What use are the pipes without the land to cultivate?'
In the distance an Israeli surveyor is sketching out plans. She is wearing a wide brimmed hat and, were her objectives less damaging to these people, her presence would be picturesque. Minutes later a large tank advanced menacingly along the projected route of the wall, lumbering slowly and threateningly past like some pre-historic crab. Its barrel is trained in our direction. The tanks patrol the construction area routinely throughout the day and night.
Mr. Jaloud darts behind a tree, and tells me that any Palestinians who approach the construction are considered suspicious and often targeted. Later as we walk along the path, I place him to my right, so that he feels protected.
Back in his office, he is quite buoyant. Delegations and press visit him daily. Thomas Friedman of the New York Times had recently asked to be escorted to the site of the wall, and today the World Bank and the British Consulate General had both telephoned to book appointments. But, as he remarked, 'Everyone comes to see it. Nothing is done.'
'There are only a few militants,' he tells me, 'why should the Palestinian people be punished? Suicide bombings should not be viewed in a vacuum. They should be linked to the far more bloody terror by Israel against the Palestinians since its founding. The wall prevents there being the possibility of a viable Palestinian state and therefore makes a peaceful resolution impossible.'
He cited as myth that the wall would stop suicide bombers.
'There are no tangible benefits to Israel,' he explained. 'The wall erected around Gaza after the first Intifada didn't stop attacks on Israeli targets. It increased the anger and resentment that fuelled the attacks.'
A recent incident, which happened when the Israelis had searched a hospital, elicited a formal complaint from UNRWA*. 'Of course,' Mr. Jaloud said, 'they search everywhere; mosques, churches and houses. Entering the houses they frighten the children and commit petty forms of vandalism like putting sugar in rice jars. In fact in a city where 40% of the population is malnourished, this is not such a petty act. The jars of olive oil, a precious commodity here because of its multiple uses, are often kicked over during house searches. 80% of the population are receiving subsidies from UNRWA and there are also contributions from Arab charities.'
I am shown incident reports of the civilians shot and wounded, the houses demolished and the young men detained. These reports include eyewitness testimonies, photographs, and times and dates when the incidents occurred. Beyond these overt acts of violence, a more invasive form of harassment takes place with long enduring effects, as Mr. Jaloud explains.
'In November 2003, the Israelis issued three hundred permits for farmers to continue tilling their fields on the other side of the wall, which is, it should not be forgotten, still viewed as Palestinian land. There are a further thousand permits waiting, whilst the fields go to rack and ruin. In Palestine you inherit your land. The Israelis often give permits to one member of the family, perhaps a sixty or seventy- year- old woman, and won't allow a tractor through the barrier. Hence you have an old woman using the most primitive means to farm a family tract of land. In November 2003, unemployment was 80%, 33% of the businesses had closed, and eight thousand people had left Qalqilya.
He referred to the Geneva Accord, one of the three deals being explored in November 2003. He noted that the Accord sought to provide more land in Gaza in return for land around Hebron, and gave the Palestinians more of the Negev. 'Thank you very much,' he remarked sardonically. 'What are we to do with desert and no water rights?'* Mr. Jaloud averred to me what so many Palestinians have said: 'If there were a stable Middle East and the Palestinians had their own state and border, do you imagine that we would tolerate bombs, allow infiltration? It would not be allowed.'
It was late. My intention was to speak to the Mayor. As on an earlier occasion, he received me in his dark, palatial office. He was distinguished by a quiet reserve. I note that his cheeks are rather rosy, like that of an English chorister. Despite the intense heat he is dressed in a smart tweed jacket, but tie-less (an Arab characteristic of dress). His hair is smartly trimmed and greying at the edges. Generously, he gives me an hour's briefing on the implications of the construction.
Whilst speaking to me, he appears incredulous that the wall is being allowed to happen. Water supplies have been cut back and land has been confiscated. Fields are divided and farmers cannot access their land. Trade is decimated. Produce is no longer allowed to be transferred to the border. Israelis who came over the border to buy cheaply are no longer permitted to do so.
If a village within his remit requests improved water supply, he has to forward the request to the representative of the Israeli water company, who decides the amount of water the village will be allotted. None is permitted for agriculture. The cost for supplying and providing is three times what the Palestine Authority would charge. What is most galling is that the water originates on Palestinian land.
A young man had been shot in the back by the IDF during an incursion the previous evening. The entire town was turning out to honour him. The Mayor invites me to accompany him to the funeral march, which he will shortly be attending. We walk out onto the street, where the funeral procession has already started. There are several hundred Qalqilyians walking in silent tribute towards the burial ground. The streets are awash with the green Hamas banners. These young men are not militants, simply an enraged population wishing to register their anger.
As Mr. Jaloud accompanied me back to his offices, he observed, 'Christians in the West do not know about tolerance. When they think about Arabs, they think about Osima Bin Laden, whereas Islam promotes tolerance, emphasising rights and duties. Over a hundred years ago women were trained as lawyers and doctors.'
As I know that shortly I will be unable to find any transport up to Jenin, I thank the Mayor and Mr. Jaloud and start to leave. First, Mr. Jaloud insists on helping me do some shopping at the vegetable stalls, which are well stocked and fresh. He explains that in the Arab culture it is the man who makes the decisions about food, and so we progressed through the market, with Mr. Jaloud carefully choosing food for the evening meal, which more often than not entailed bringing out herbs and vegetables which are not on display.
Armed with my carefully selected vegetables, I am taken in the mayoral car to the checkpoint. Mr. Jaloud is apologetic that the car cannot take me all the way to Jenin, and I am reminded that these people live in an open prison.
14. On to Jenin
Safely aboard another of the vans that act the part of the badly needed buses, I head in the direction of Jenin. The long hours on the road are punctuated by the usual series of intimidating checkpoints, but there is one grim moment of satisfaction. As we stop at yet another block, a young conscript opens the door of the vehicle and points his gun in our direction, motioning for us to hand him our passports and IDs. I hold mine out, just beyond his reach, and suggest he says 'please'. He hesitates uncertainly for a moment, and then grunts a surly echo of the word. It is a small victory, and the Palestinians, all of whom have remained silent and inscrutable until that point, turn and smile broadly at me as the doors close and the van moves on.
The trip itself is an eye-opener for me. I have been in towns and villages during most of my stay and it is easy to forget how staggeringly beautiful this country is. Our route takes us along its western border and I hold my breath on a number of occasions as we speed along the narrow and winding roads. Along the stony terraces there are innumerable wild flowers, red anemones, cyclamen and others whose names I don't know. We drive through a lunar landscape. Granite and limestone boulders, then sheer faced precipices give way to grassy terraces with sheep grazing on slopes so steep I cannot understand how the animals cling on. Parched and cracked ravines are bordered by carpets of wild flowers, poppies waving gently from hollows among the rocks. Wooded slopes of ash and hawthorn, and rolling hills and cultivated fields where a Tuscan blue green haze is reminiscent of many a Renaissance landscape. More practically, potatoes and tomatoes grow in abundance. There is a sense of peace, even prosperity, and the reality of the road checks and prison-like towns begin to fade. But then one notes an absence of many people, and recalls what the reality is for this population, the vast majority condemned to a harsh life in a homeland which has become a conglomeration of grim cantons
Eventually, after two failed attempts at bypassing roadblocks, we reach Jenin, a gem of a town, half ringed by hills. I arrived having little idea what to expect. Its refugee camp is notorious, following the massacre of a year ago, so widely covered in the International Press, which took place on a hillside very near the town centre. The UN was not allowed in for several days to access the damage and make reports. What emerged later was gruesome, but because of the time lapse was it was virtually impossible to determine the true extent of the damages.
The banks, shopping centre and businesses are all located in the heart of the town, minutes from the bus centre. One of the roads is pointed out to me as leading to the camp. This is my first visit to a refugee camp in Palestine, and I have no idea what to expect. There is no entrance and no specific indication of where the camp starts and the town ends. I note a number of demolished buildings, either bulldozed or bombed, punctuated by rectangular, stone houses which you would expect to see in any Palestinian town. This pattern continues all along the route, the hollow shells and prosperous villas sometimes abutting a ramshackle shed which serves as a house, or a tenement of several stories. No trees, no shrubs, nothing to soften the harshness of the environment. I can see children in school uniform approaching in the distance, laughing and talking, behaving like children anywhere on earth, seemingly oblivious to the environment in which they must live.
I pass by the UN compound, in no way different from adjoining houses and only distinguished by its sign. Inside is a moving tribute of fresh flowers in front of a hand written note to Ian Hook, the UN Volunteer who was killed by the Israelis whilst trying to protect children during an earlier incursion. It is shocking that two of the westerners killed by the Israelis last year, Tom Hurndall and Ian Hook, were in the process of helping children, whilst James Miller was shot carrying a white flag and Rachael Corrie was buried alive, standing in front of a bulldozer poised to demolish a house.
As I reach the end of the street, the infamous hill stretches out in front of me. The Israelis bombarded this area and then bulldozed three hundred and fifty houses, some whose inhabitants were still inside. No one yet has attempted to find out how many dead bodies lie under all the hopelessly impenetrable rubble.
I ask if there is anyone who can talk to me. First, an elderly and overweight woman (the scrappy and unbalanced diet does little for one's waistline), dressed in a long Palestinian robe with her head wrapped in a scarf, approaches. It appears from her limited English that she is attacking me, demanding that I do something. She breaks into uncontrollable sobs, and walks away. The futility of my presence.
Next, a small, energetic man, with sparkling, diminutive, button eyes comes up and signals that I should follow him. We climb up to the top of the hill. It is an eerie feeling, like walking over an enormous burial mound. He indicates that I should follow him into his house and we climb several floors to his apartment. The windows look directly onto the hill. His house marks the outer border of where the Israelis finished demolishing, which he regards as a near miracle.
The sitting room, like so many in Palestine, is largely unadorned, but with sofas and chairs lining the walls and a coffee table in the centre. Rather incongruously there are two massive bags of flour piled in the corner, which UNWRA has provided to help them through the winter. My guide's English is limited and my Arabic is non-existent, so conversation is stilted. Nonetheless, he manages to convey the sense of fear they experienced during the bombardment resulting from the water stoppage, all the soldiers and the Apache Helicopters with their missiles. He shows me the water tanks two floors below, which enabled them to survive.
Within minutes, cousins and relations line up at the entrance of the room, curious to see who this foreign visitor is. He, like most of the town, is unemployed, but his wife brings us a beautifully presented tray of tea.
I ask to photograph the family and two members hurriedly depart. Not, as I initially suspect, because they don't want to be photographed. They return quickly, the young daughter with her shiny black fringe and a huge smile on her face, dressed in her school uniform, a smart little blue and white striped dress with a starched white collar, and the young man looking fit to burst with pride, displaying a certificate, a diploma in hotel management.
It remains a mystery to me how these people retain their humanity in the circumstances in which they are required to live. I would love to know that the young man, whose face expressed such hope and good will, is now working in hotel management, but it is hardly likely. Who would build a hotel in Jenin and, given the closures, who could stay there?
Whilst I know these people would put me up for the night, my intention is to go on to Tulkarem and I want to stop and see the Arab-American University (inaptly named since it has no association with America) on my way down. The bus drops me at the university, which is about half an hour south of Jenin.
15. The Arab-American University
Funded by the Palestinian Authority and only recently finished, the university is magnificent and utterly unexpected. I had travelled from one of the dry dusty towns which are dotted along the main routes, taking a taxi the two miles to the university, along a stretch of fields and gently undulating hills. As we rounded a bend in the road, I was enchanted and amazed to see this grand building, an architectural gem fashioned out of the soft honey dewed limestone which blends so appropriately with the landscape. Set in sumptuous parkland, this was another sharp contrast to the towns and villages I had seen.
There are two thousand students here, and I was invited to sit with several who were celebrating a birthday. They were well educated, moderate and optimistic. It is hard to believe that Israel will manage to grind this generation down. They acknowledged the significance of Arafat and his great achievement in forcing the world to acknowledge the existence of Palestine. But they no longer view him and his cronies as the ones to be presenting a forward looking, more international face to the world. You have only to look at the way the western press runs rings around the old guard because their English is so limited, one of the students suggested. Palestine needs this young, educated elite to transform the image the world currently has of it.
After speaking to the office of the Chancellor, it was agreed that I might spend the night in the apartment of an absent member of staff. I arranged to pass the evening with two professors from the Arts and Science Departments. They were chalk and cheese. The Arts Professor, engaging and humorous, seemed to have had enough of the dramas of Palestine. I sensed he would have enjoyed discussing anything but the present situation. In contrast, his colleague, who had recently decided to return to Palestine from a successful teaching position in a Michigan, spoke with a conviction which seemed to well up inside him and pour out. My abiding memory of this conversation was his adamant determination that Palestine had nothing to apologise for.
Earlier in the year, I had been talking to an American friend, who was well disposed towards the Palestinian cause, but had raised the issue of Palestinian educational policies. She said they printed material that was specifically anti-Jewish and anti-American. The academic pointed out that anyone without bias looking at US/Israeli policies directed towards Palestine would recognise that those policies were entirely in favour of Israel. If it was considered to be anti-American to point this out, it was that view that could be seen to be lacking in logic.
Both these men believed in the one state option ( a plan which would be likely to lead to state with a Palestinian majority), so utterly abhorrent to most Israelis, who see it as a corruption of the Zionist state which they fought so hard to establish. Ironically, the present policies actually advance the likelihood of a one state solution.
16. A Roundabout Journey to Tulkarem
On my return to the nearby town the following morning, I had the frustrating experience of learning that the Jenin-Tulkarem bus did not stop there, and that I would have to retrace my steps to Jenin before going on to Tulkarem.
I had not slept well, and the dry, scorching heat was taking its toll, but reluctantly I bowed to the inevitable and returned to Jenin. At the bus station, there was a two hour wait, and the only bus available would necessitate me going down to Kalundia, the large junction just north of Jerusalem and miles out of my way. From there, it would necessitate several hours travelling to reach Tulkarem. Whatever happened, it was clear that I would be spending the night in Jerusalem.
By this time I was tired, dirty and fed up. I settled into my seat on the bus. The driver said we would be leaving in two hours, but I knew no one could guarantee the time, and that we would only leave when the bus was full. Two little boys kept pestering me to buy chewing gum. I was the only person in the depot likely to give them any money. A number of young men boarded the bus during the next two hours. In a semi-stupor I took little notice. I was aware that they all appeared to know each other, and conversation flowed. The driver finally started to rev up the engine, and we started on our way. I noted he was stressed. Shortly we were mounting one of the hills leading out of the town. The young man at my side pointed to smoke on the far side of the town. Although communication was limited, I understood that the Israelis were targeting a house. I was later to learn more about the incident which involved Jewish settlers having placed a bomb outside a Palestinian primary school. A child had brought it into the class where it exploded, injuring seventeen children – although why that encouraged the army to demolish a Palestinian house remained unclear.
Apparently this military action had encouraged the Israelis to block off all entrances and exits to the town. However, our driver, a portrait of aggressiveness and determination, hunched over the wheel and, failing to navigate one roadblock, sought another route. This had a comical aspect, rather keystone cops, involving chasing up and down hills for well over half an hour, and ending up where we had started.
Gradually I entered into the spirit of the occasion, rooting for the driver to find a way out. By now we were travelling with a convey of ten cars down a dirt track, approaching an olive grove in a recently ploughed field. The cars followed us into the field, from the far side of which, as far as I could understand, was a road leading south. Then horror! An Israeli jeep appeared behind us, and two young soldiers, heavily armed as usual, got out and ordered us back into town.
Mustering all the authority I was capable of,(and being perfectly aware that I presented myself as a parody of an ex-Colonial, arrogant and rather well portrayed occasionally by Maggie Smith) I opened the window, leaned out and addressed the soldier. 'Officer!' I called. Utterly ignored. More peremptorily, 'OFFICER!' Miraculously, he approached. 'My husband was in the Brigade of Guards, and would find this behaviour utterly DISGRACEFUL,' I shrieked. 'We have an important meeting to get to, and are reduced to driving through an olive grove!'
I perceived a slight flicker of understanding – was it something I said, or did he too regard his actions as utterly reprehensible? Or perhaps he just thought having an old bag like that in the car is punishment enough for one day – so lets let them go.
In any case he responded rather chillingly 'This will stop when the killing stops,' (I only just resisted registering a pointless rejoinder about the predominance of Palestinian deaths – definitely not the occasion for a rational debate).
Just when I thought that our last chance was lost, the two soldiers swung into the jeep and drove off.
This confirmed my position in the bus. Our battered vehicle rumbled off, over the rutted alleys between the trees. An hour later we reached a tarmac road and were safely on our way south. The heat, tension and rough passage made me feel quite sick, and I remembered that a friend had given me a rather clever gismo before leaving England, a roll-on stick of lemon verbena to combat sickness. I rubbed a little on my wrist and then smelt it. It was rather effective. I persuaded my companion to try it. Out of courtesy rather than conviction, he gave it a try.
Not bad! I turned to the four boys in the back and each in turn gave it a try. After that, every half hour I would call out 'Wrists, gentleman!' waving my stick in the air and, not unlike a dance routine from a Gershwin musical, the four boys would flip their wrists over in unison to be anointed one more time.
As we drove along these hills and valleys, I asked why you never saw Palestinian families out picnicking, walking or just going for a days outing. As if to answer my question, my companion pointed to an Israeli reconnaissance unit patrolling in the hills. 'If they see us, they treat us as terrorists and shoot. Not the best for a days outing.'
He told me how much he loved his country; how much he wanted to get on with his life. All of these boys in normal circumstances would be light-hearted students, embarking on an optimistic future. It has been one year since our encounter, and statistically it is likely that one if not two of them have already been jailed.
It sounds ludicrous in retrospect, but on this trip I remember laughing more than I had for years.
Reality was never far away, however. We passed a roadside café. I thought of getting out and buying us all a cold drink. Of course, we were not allowed in the café or even to stop the van on the highway. At the next road block, these funny, gentle young men were again subjected to the humiliation of getting out of the bus and showing all their IDs and passes. The odd condescending remark from the guards would be passed (one of the boys was called Osima and every soldier we encountered pointed this out, a witticism we were required to acknowledge with acquiescent laughter) but always, I noticed, the boys would look at the ground, hoping not to catch the eye of any of the soldiers.
At Kalundia, the boys got out, and after affectionate greetings we went our separate ways. I decided to take the bus into Jerusalem and spend the night in a Catholic Hospice run by the IBVM*. It was getting dark, and soon any form of public transport would end. I took a taxi which dropped me by a newly bulldozed roadblock. I scrambled over the mounds of earth onto the other side. Two army jeeps passed me by, and the road was dark and unlit. One of the ubiquitous white vans approached. In any other circumstances I would have regarded it with concern. There is something bonding about the occupation, however, which identifies everyone in an 'us and them', rather George Bush-like way. You just know with certainty that every Palestinian is going to be on your side. The driver opened his window and invited me to get in.
I told him I was going to Jerusalem, and he agreed to take me as far as the motorway, after which he was allowed no further. He dropped me and pointed me towards another military checkpoint. I must have been an incongruous picture, a lady of an indeterminate age walking in the rain along the side of a highway, carrying an embroidered Gladstone bag on a push trolley, approaching three IDF guards all aiming their guns in my direction. My only hope of reaching the centre of Jerusalem from here relied on the soldiers stopping an Israeli bus, which would then take me to the central station.
17. Two Conversations
Getting onto the bus, I had trouble finding the right coins. A young Israeli girl next to me helped out. She informed me, in that rather guttural voice which distinguishes many Israelis, that this was her first visit to Jerusalem. Her parents were a settler family in the Negev and she was coming to Jerusalem for a bridal shower.
She embarked then upon a rather curious diatribe. 'Being realistic,' she said, 'Jesus could not have walked on water. And the virgin birth,' she maintained, 'was utterly ridiculous.'
I argued that what most Christians were concerned about was the essence of the message, namely Charity, or Love.
She wanted to stick to the facts and said love was really very abstract. She changed tack. 'Where are you from?' she wanted to know. As always, to diffuse the situation, I replied, 'Scotland.' The thought of Scotland excited her, as there was so much empty space there.
'We in Israel have very little space. We need more, and need lots and lots more Jews to come and live in Israel.' 'But what about the Palestinians?' I asked. 'They are dirty and bad. They kill and murder,' she replied.
I asked if she thought that the Israelis ever killed. 'Only by mistake,' she assured me. 'They would never hurt anyone unless attacked.'
'What about the statistics,' I countered. 'Four times the Palestinian children killed as Israeli.' 'This cannot be. Our army is the goodest (again that word). They would only do that by mistake.' 'Rather a lot of mistakes.' I responded.
'This is our land, we need it all, and anyway you're annoying me,' she concluded.
A frigid silence descended, and on arrival she darted out of the bus, attempting to put as much distance as possible between herself and my contaminating presence.
I noticed the bus driver had been listening attentively to our exchanges, and I thought he might well be rooting for her. When we got to the bus depot, however, he took particular trouble in directing me to the connecting bus. Leaning out of his window, he beamed at me. I realised he was, most probably, an Israeli Arab. Ironically, in terms of looks, he was indistinguishable from the Semitic Jews who hold his kind in such contempt.
The following day, I experienced an equally revealing conversation with the assistant at the Christian Book Shop in Jerusalem. A year ago I had met the owner, a very balanced and devoted man hailing from Middle America who, along with his family, had spent decades in the Holy Land 'spreading the word.' His assistant, whose face was furrowed deeply by care and time, was what I regard as a Christian militant. He was American, although a long time resident in Jerusalem, no doubt thus ensuring himself a front row seat on the Last Judgement day.
He extolled the virtues of Christian missionaries who had just smuggled five thousand Bibles into Iraq. Historically, Iraq has shown considerable tolerance towards its Christian minority. This attempt to foist five thousand bibles on this fragile minority at this particular juncture appeared to me to be madness at best, inflammatory at worst. He assured me, however, that the Koran presents the Moslems as being violent, and reminded me that the fulfilment of God's word required that the Israelis occupy all of Biblical Israel. Then and only then would the Jews recognise the error of their ways and convert to Christianity, he proclaimed. But this, of course, would necessitate the handover of all of ancient Israel and Judaea.
'Pretty tough on the Palestinians, 'I remarked. He shifted to the Mount of Olives. He supposed that I, as a Catholic, thought that Christ would come again on the last day to Rome, but this was absurd as His intention is undoubtedly to judge us here in Jerusalem, on The Mount of Olives. I countered that I really was not deeply concerned about the location and could not believe that it would be uppermost in the mind of an omniscient God.
The conversation was becoming heated and rather nasty, so I beat a hasty retreat. I am distressed when I meet people like this, who interfere in the fragile balance that only just manages to exist here, and I can't imagine how peace can ever finally be restored to the Holy Land while these meddlesome fanatics continue with their own agendas.
18.An American in Ramallah
The following afternoon, I arranged to travel up to Ramallah, the most cosmopolitan city in Palestine. Situated in deep-set hills and far from the sea, Ramallah was 'discovered' in the 1960s by the oil-rich Arabs and became a summer resort town. Land was bought and villas built. The Grand Hotel, erected a decade earlier on one of the highest hills above the town, with its large garden and pine trees, had full occupancy during the summer months. The numerous shops and restaurants in the town centre testify to its prosperity, as does Rukab's, the famed ice cream parlour. Palestine's most prestigious school, St. George, was established by the Quakers in the 1860's and provides locals with an injection of western education. Ramallah is, in many respects, an oasis in this turbulent country. However, the Palestinian Parliament is there and in 2003, over a period of days, Sharon ordered its virtual destruction. Arafat is effectively a prisoner in the compound, which is largely rubble. We watched this on western television and, whilst expressing horror, did nothing to stop these actions. In destroying Parliament, most of the records were destroyed also, which disabled the police and rendered impossible any disbursements that the government was responsible for making.
I had elected to stay with a young American with whom I had struck up a friendship in Jerusalem. Generously, he offered me the use of his flat in a residential area within minutes of the centre. He had spent several weeks in Gaza in 2003, on a programme set up by an educational fellowship, and returned the following year to work in a school linked to the American Middle East Education Service. He was motivated by his beliefs, which I might easily have caricatured, being instinctively suspicious of Christian fundamentalists and, particularly, of their role in the Middle East.
But it would not be easy to caricature Brennan. He was transparently genuine in his beliefs, and was by no means swayed by propaganda. He had the curiosity and courage to spend several months in Palestine during what can only be described as a difficult time, in an attempt to understand another culture. He was not in the least bellicose, but whilst his time here had moderated his admiration for Israel, he could not be described as an admirer of the Arab world.
We talked extensively of his time in Palestine, and of the difficulties he had encountered with Arab hospitality. At his school only two students had asked him to lunch and only one had invited him home. One university student, a girl parents were urging her to marry according to the custom, had become a friend. Although cultural barriers existed, she was able to unburden herself by talking to Brennan, which helped resolve some of the conflicts in her life.
In addition to teaching in school, he sought tutoring jobs outside in order to flesh out his salary. Of the families who engaged him, two were Muslim and one Christian. The former were middle-aged women with Master's degrees who wore western dress. One, whose husband had been a former Ambassador to Russia and now worked in the government, was secretary to Abu Mazen, (Prime Minister briefly during 2003) This family still believed in the two state solution. The husband saw Abu Mazen's time in office as a missed opportunity for US/Israel and Palestine, while she considered him to be a wonderful man who sought to create a peaceful solution. He had failed to achieve this only because the US had not given enough power to him, and had not urged Israel to make concessions which would have strengthened his hand when dealing with the more radical movements. She held little hope for Abu Allah.(Followed Abu Mazen and is still PM in 2004)
I had been given a copy of the projected cabinets for the respective countries. It was interesting to note that the Likud cabinet is formed by ex-military whereas the Palestinian consisted almost entirely of academics. This is inevitable in that the Israeli army is a conscript army – so everyone has to serve.
Brennan gave me a hilarious copy of an interview with a spokesman for the American spokesman concerning settlements, which summed up the futility of U.S. Policy for me*. In some ways I envied his moral certitude. On one occasion he spoke of America as being God's own country, linking its success and prosperity (apparently blind to the staggering contradictions of wealth and poverty that co-exist in America today) to the large number of practicing believers. I know every super power in its time has attributed its success to their God's personal intervention, yet the very idea of an American God rather than a universally loving Father is so repellent that I cannot grasp how anyone can genuinely think this way.
His sense of entitlement carried with it heavy responsibilities which I found very impressive, however. When walking into town, we invariably passed streets crammed with litter. I knew Brennan felt that in America a community association would elect to clear up this mess. He acknowledged that the Israelis had enfeebled the Palestinian Authority, but despite the hardships imposed on the Palestinian people, he was bewildered by their seeming indifference to certain aspects of their lives. In this context, he mentioned the school students he was teaching. He felt that he had something to impart to them, but that they would not listen. Twenty-five percent of his pupils in Ramallah did not complete their homework, he claimed, and failed even to make pretence of writing down details of the assignment. He contrasted this to his teaching experiences in Wyoming, where the students had been interested and cooperative. Whilst I had no doubt that in his Wyoming, New Mexico, Montana and California Junior Highs, the students were hard working and cooperative, I felt that it was unjust to contrast his teaching experiences there with what he had encountered in Palestine, where conditions are so sharply different and dire.
Brennan was teaching in English to Arabic speaking classes. Although the school was well funded and had good facilities by Palestinian standards, virtually all of these children appeared traumatised by the Israeli incursions they had experienced in the course of the Intifada. Despite the effect of the closures and separations from their families, I was to find that they were in general lively and open.
19. Schoolroom Conversations
Brennan contacted his head master on my behalf, who agreed that I could spend an afternoon talking to some of the children in the classes Brennan taught. The ratio of Muslims to Christians in this Christian city was 60-40 in favour of the Muslims. Unsurprisingly, as everything in Palestine revolves around politics, they were all well informed politically, and I was struck by the pride they felt for their country. Everyone I spoke to had witnessed or experienced violence linked to the occupation.
One of the group of twelve year olds, Khaled, told me, 'The curfew is sometimes a month. Even shopping makes us afraid. A boy killed. I see killed. Boy do not anything. Walk in street and they kill him and go away. Israel children meet us and say bad things. Make us angry but we don't fight. Make it free.'
Angie, also twelve and in the same class, and speaking as a Christian Palestinian said she had no difficulty with Muslims as brothers, but that, 'soldiers won't let me go to my sister's house and I can't go to Jerusalem to church. I can't know a future if soldiers stay. I can't stay here. I can't study in Jerusalem.' Tamer added, 'United States helps Israel,' and Kahlil and David, who live in a neighbouring village, told me they saw their families once a month.
Tamer thought there would be a problem if Arafat died, adding, 'He lives and talks about Palestine. Abu Mazen talks about himself.' This was interesting as it reflects a widespread view that Abu Mazen is a stooge of the Americans and would only reach agreement by making unacceptable concessions.
Next, I talked with a class of fifteen year olds. These children went beyond speaking of Israeli actions on the ground, and considered the political possibilities. Said, the only one to consider the option, thought that two states was the answer, whilst Jamal looked into the future and believed that the 'idiots' who were building the wall to separate Israelis from Palestinians were creating all the problems of another Berlin. Distressingly, Nora observed, 'If soldiers see boys at checkpoints, take them, hit them on legs.' She continued with the interesting observation that 'Jewish and Israeli different. Jews are the ones who hate us. Israeli people are not my enemy.'
I failed to establish what Nora meant by this, but it seems that they used the word 'Jew' when making a criticism, and 'Israeli' when speaking of the nation, which, as a whole, they absolved of blame.
Bit by bit a picture of their lives and fears emerged. While Louis said he wasn't frightened, he spoke of the soldiers being in Ramallah for eighteen days, accusing them of not caring who they attacked. Fadi spoke of the big jail where people 'wait under the sun for hours,' and of tanks that 'bump over houses,' and her fear that she 'can't live safely'. Diana lives in Jifna, ten minutes out of town, and must travel up to two hours daily, and spoke of the cost of the checkpoints. Jahrain agreed that these were 'hard times to get to school' and said that to continue the war would be 'stupid'.
There were conflicting views about terrorism, but all agreed that the majority of Palestinians who are imprisoned or killed are labelled falsely if conveniently as terrorists. Students trying to find their way around a checkpoint that will cost them hours are shot at, as are farmers straying too near the wall. Then they are identified as terrorists without any further investigation. Equally, all members of Hamas are regarded as terrorists, which is an absurdity. Mohammed said that his religion 'says we have to defend ourselves so you have no other choice, but you don't agree with it,' whilst Diana thought that 'suicide bombers and Christianity don't go together.' Fedya told me 'the Koran says you can kill from them if they kill from you,' although Mohammed, having spoken of the need for self-defence, cautioned against revenge.
Two of these 15 year olds felt that suicide bombing was justified, four that it was unacceptable under any circumstances. Three of them didn't think peace could be achieved given Israel's attitude, whilst three still believed in the possibility of peace.
Only one child professed to agree wholeheartedly with the suicide bombers and she was demonstrably seeking attention, constantly interrupting her classmates and treating the discussion with an unbecoming levity. I was impressed by their thoughtful replies, and by how lacking in vengeance they were.
Speaking next with some sixteen year olds, I met Diala, the only one who talked of emigrating, in this case to Canada, where she has uncles, but which country refused both her mother and father as immigrants. I met the mother, a nurse, later in town, and she confirmed that the family were desperate to emigrate, pointing out the need in the west for trained nurses. She begged me to talk to someone in England, but the idea that a country in such desperate need of medical staff should lose a nurse placed me in a dilemma.
Mohammed told me that you 'don't leave your home as Israelis might take it over,' and Fadia wanted people in other countries to understand the reality of life in Palestine, adding 'Our friends and our lives are here. We stay.' Maysa explained that her brother was too frightened by the presence of soldiers even to go to school, and that her mother was no longer able to move about and buy things. She was emphatic that there were 'no good points to this Intifada.' Kaulther spoke of violence, attacks, curfews, the disabled, whilst Mirna concurred that none of them 'live like what we want.' Diala was certain that politicians, who made life worse, were 'maybe the worst people in the world.'
Not unnaturally, given that their only experience of the Israelis was military, they viewed Israel with horror and wanted them off their land. The twelve-year-old Tamar explained, 'We can't play as other boys in the world play. In Palestine, children are in jail. Soldiers don't let us play in the curfew. Why do they do that?' These children, who repeatedly affirmed the love they felt for their country, wanted only that life could be normal again.
Brennan was to pass on to me a number of essays these children wrote. They were all concerned with land that had been lost in the Nabka. Palestinian children are brought up from an early age to understand the precise details of their loss.
20. Brennan's Perspective -- The Christian Right
Afterwards, sitting with Brennan, I listened as he told me why he was critical of the sense of victimisation he believed Palestinians possessed and fostered. By way of an illustration, he quoted a young man sitting with him in Gaza, in the middle of a well-stocked mall, telling him 'We are in the worst situation in the world.' Brennan's perception reflects American materialism, perhaps, as a mall, however well stocked, hardly acts as a reliable litmus test in an occupied country.
'In Gaza,' he told me,' we went into a Government school which looked like a typical non-US school. All wore uniforms. We went into two rooms, sat down, and a girl of six recited a very dramatic poem. We assumed it was about the occupation. It was in fact about dispossession. The child was being indoctrinated, focussing on how bad the Israelis were, how they should fight and die for a cause. Next, in the art room we saw posters about the occupation. One had a hand, knife, and blood drawn on it – what they needed to kill the Jews.' He thought that the West Bank was different to Gaza, however, where the hatred was self-perpetuating.
I asked him why the U.S. was so offended by Palestine, and so forgiving of Israel.
'The Christian affinity with Jews,' was his answer. 'Our Bible is based on the Jewish Bible. This is the land of Jesus. He walked in this land. So we have an attachment.'
On the other hand, he explained, Islam is perceived by Americans as being evil and connected with fundamentalists and Bin Laden, and so must be against everything America believes in. And they are outraged by the concept of suicide bombers. Suicide is a taboo subject in the US, and this particular brand kills innocents as well. This is not lost on the Israeli PR machine. 'There are 230 million people in America and 220 don't care about International issues,' Brennan continued, 'They don't have to. After Sept 11th, Americans see things as reverting back to normal. We have everything we need, and we don't have to travel.'
Brennan had the humility to admit that he was not in a position to either pass judgement or suggest a solution. He thought both the Arabs and Israelis were culpable. While Judaism preaches peace, a large part of the Israeli population is secular, and so ignorant people quote the Torah to support their case. And whilst the Koran was peaceful (up to a point, he stressed) reading it had not moved his heart. Given that he had spent a great deal more time out here, and probably had a greater understanding of the issues than 99% of the experts in the field, I listened carefully to his views.
Brennan struck me as an honest and good man, more open than the majority of his compatriots. Yet not far from the surface, I sensed he felt little sympathy for the Arab culture. Despite recognising the moral repugnance of the Israeli position, he would always associate more closely with their culture.
21. The Landlord
Brennan's landlord, whose father is from an old Christian family, agreed to me meeting his family. Their house, built in the 1930's, was quite substantial and very representative of a particular era. Set in a half acre of land, with stone steps leading up to the verandah, it had seen better days, and the father spent his days in a room on the ground floor, possibly mulling over better times.
The son of the house spent an evening talking with me. As always there is no attempt to turn the television off and the news channel Al Jezzeira accompanies our conversation. His wife and father were present, and whilst he acknowledged any interruptions from his father, he disregarded anything his wife attempted to add. Brennan had warned me that nearly every sentence would be punctuated by a finger being jabbed in my direction and a repeated, 'I want to tell you something'. Consequently I found it hard to suppress giggles as the evening wore on.
In fact, my host skirted around any attempt on my part to elicit views on the Intifada, with the exception of highlighting the fact that, after the Oslo agreement, Palestine had started to open up commercially. There were now banks here, from all round the world, breaking the stranglehold Israel had had until 1994. He thought (and I am unable to confirm how widespread this view is) that Palestinians did not like the fact that the Oslo Accord had been conducted secretly, disapproving of this way of negotiating.* Furthermore, he considered that, post Camp David, Arafat was seen by Palestinians and Israelis alike as a policeman for the Israelis, a fairly widespread point of view amongst Palestinians I encountered throughout my stay, who thought that US demands had placed him in this impossible position, one that prevented him addressing issues more properly, from the Palestinian perspective. After Oslo, my informant informed me, the Israelis not only wanted Arafat as their policeman, but also wished for the Palestinian Authority to deal with health and education. Then they could have all the land on their own terms - a client state, with no responsibility. He warmed to his theme, but I started to lose interest as he insisted on reciting the history of Palestine to me, something with which I was by now very familiar. Eventually, I extracted myself and made an appointment to talk with his wife the next morning.
Perhaps because she was one of the few women I had occasion to talk to, I found her views really interesting. She was young, very pretty and approachable, and wore western dress. I began by asking her how she spent her days. She appeared (from observation) to be responsible for cleaning the entire house and my impression was that her father- in- law treated her with some distain, partly because she had been brought up in a nearby village, although she and his son had met at university. Also from observation, I would say she was not a very thorough house cleaner.
She looked after her two children, and once a week went off to a Christian conversation group with friends. I thought they might discuss politics, but from everything she said they met at each other's homes or in cafes and spent their time going over the Bible. She had made a considerable contribution to the family coffers, working in town as the receptionist at a Mitsubishi car franchise. The owner asked her to work on Sundays, giving her Friday off. She refused because of her family, and because of her faith. He laid her off, and put a Moslem in her place, who was prepared to work on a Sunday. She said that there was an irony in that the owner was himself a Christian. She admitted that she would not want her sons to marry a Moslem, proof again that although these two religions get on and live side by side in Palestine, there are barriers
22. Sightseeing in Jifna
In Cairo, I had bought what may be the only travel guide to Palestine. In it the writer mentions a pretty little village called Jifna, largely Christian, just outside Ramallah. It would take fifteen minutes to get there in normal circumstances, but of course these were not normal times.
The local bus passes through the prosperous suburbs of Ramallah, and in the distance far below, along a narrow cliff face, hundreds of cars, buses and vans were lined up in no discernable order, along with the emaciated Palestinian ponies, bedecked incongruously with bells, that convey people too old or too burdened to walk between the barriers. Amongst the seething melee, hundreds of people attempting to reach villages outside of Ramallah somehow managed to identify the appropriate bus or van, and turning, reversing, weaving, horns blowing, extricated themselves and headed off to the villages. This was the mother of all road blocks.
These ad hoc road blocks consist of enormous mounds of earth heaped at intervals of several hundred metres, forming a massive barrier to one's progress. After scaling this particular block, and having found yet another servis to convey me to my destination, I am in another world.
It is a beautiful clear day, with not a single cloud in sight. Pretty village houses border the road, and I am surprised to see some old men sitting outside a roadside café, drinking tea. Villages are dotted about on the rolling hillsides that surround Jifna, and one or two houses are in the process of renovation. But finding the 'delightful' Al-Morouge mentioned in my guide book proves a problem.
Eventually I see a house, which could be the one, but there is no sign of life. I am directed to a nearby house by a neighbour. The owner invites me in to the cool, marble floored sitting room and tells me that it has been impossible to continue with the pension since no one comes to the village. She offers me lunch, which I eat on the terrace. There is only one drawback to eating in the open in Palestine; flies. Palestinian flies are miniscule and impervious to persuasion. Flaying arms and frantic movements fail to move them. They alight on the preferred morsel of food and remain there. I sense a symbiotic relation with the indigenous population. Meanwhile my hostess has very kindly refused any payment. We talk of the death of her husband, who died a couple of years ago of natural causes – one of the few families I have met where a family member has died thus in recent times. Her daughter lost her job in Ramallah because of the closures, and her second daughter goes to university at Bir Zeit, when she can get there. Twice Israeli soldiers have attacked her in her home during the past year. On one occasion, someone threw a stone as tanks were passing by. The soldiers stopped the tank and came to her house. Racing in, they could find nothing. As they left, they shot several times onto the veranda, damaging the stonework (the marks were still visible) and breaking a light fixture.
The second time, they came in the middle of the night and made the family go out on to the p