Collective Apathy about Collective Punishment

It feels like my surroundings are rapidly closing in on me. The metal bars in which I am enclosed are ugly and the ground is littered with trash. Desperate children are trying to sell me gum and candy. Candy is the last thing I want right now; I want to escape. Bodies are pressing up against me as people struggle to make it through the revolving gate that only lets a few through at a time. If I am not aggressive, I will never get through. A teenage boy is getting yelled at by a soldier for some unknown reason, and a father is denied although his wife and children are granted passage. An old man in the car lane is taking out his groceries one by one from his trunk as a young soldier stands inspecting, finger on the trigger. Cars are backed up and people are getting impatient. I am angry.

I must pass through the checkpoint every time I wish to enter Jerusalem from Ramallah, even though east Jerusalem is Palestinian territory. I have to answer the familiar questions such as “What were you doing in the West Bank?” or “Do you have any Palestinian friends?” I hate being forced to lie. Having Palestinian friends should not be looked at as criminal. And I hate that they almost – almost make me feel that I am truly doing something wrong. Most of all, I hate the way the Palestinians are treated, and although I am uncomfortable, chances are I will get through without much problem. Their reality is much different. Any random checkpoint encounter could mean harassment, detainment, or worse.  It seems to mostly depend on the mood of the soldier.

I had underestimated the anger and anxiety that I would feel in these scenarios. Some people around me appear visibly upset while others just look bored. Because of the freedom that I have enjoyed my entire life, I refuse to accept this dehumanizing process. As I stand there, I vow to never adjust, to never become desensitized to this. For me, that would signal complicity in the face of the injustice that is occurring: a complete domination of one group of people over another—a betrayal of humanity. Threat levels are determined by the color of your ID card and the language that you speak. I will not thank the soldiers when they return my passport. I will not grant legitimacy to their role by acting like they are doing me a favor. I will not be forced to equate human rights with privilege.

When they ask, I tell the interrogators that I have been in the city of Nablus, visiting Jacob’s Well, which is the biblical site where Jesus is believed to have had encountered a Samaritan woman. This falls in line with my Christian tourism story that most visitors have to use if they are planning on having any contact with Palestinians. Although with suspicious looks, I am allowed to pass through the gates with the others like herded animals.

When you witness the policies that are in place and the apartheid system that is occurring, it is hard to stay outside the cycle of hatred. It is hard to see the ‘other’, the one who is enforcing the rules, as human—they become robots, trapped inside a system that teaches you to follow orders, not to ask questions. It denies all natural laws of humanity, so the challenge then becomes to stay human in an inhuman situation. People are not meant to be kept in cages, both figuratively and literally, and race and religion should not be prioritized. The ironies are many in this ‘Holy Land’.

But how do I communicate to others what I have seen and felt when most people choose the comfort of ignorance over awareness in our unjust world? If words could accurately describe this oppression, I do not believe it would be allowed to continue unchecked.  The gap between words and lived experience is vast, and those who may actually have the power to change things may never understand the reality—the reality of the nightmare that is occupation. It was only through my experience in this region that I was ultimately changed. It was from looking it in the eye, from feeling powerless, from experiencing a fear that the unexpected could happen at any given moment.

 In Palestine, where most days I feel useless rather than useful, I still somehow feel that I have to be here no matter how outside of my comfort zone it lies. I cannot continue to be complicit or neutral, because I have seen what that means in this conflict and how collective apathy has embarrassingly allowed the occupation of Palestine to continue for 44 years. I am standing on a bridge between two worlds—one in which the powerful are silent, and the other in which the powerless are screaming, yet ignored. It is through this paradox that I am seeking answers. And some degree of hope.

Little boy, open your rock-clenching fist
Let it fall to the ground
Let's go tend to the olive trees
the few that remain amidst the sea of stumps
on the black charred earth

Little boy, don't be angry
get your backpack
let's go to class
we can get there on time if
the checkpoint is open and the soldiers are happy

little boy, it's not so bad
let's go for a walk
just keep your distance
from that fortified hilltop
from that winding wall
the cameras are on us

little boy, don't lose hope.
your kids.
no, your grandkids
they'll be free
they will probably be free

Rando

This past weekend I took a trip to the city of Hebron in the south of the West Bank. Hebron is where the Israeli occupation is felt most heavily in some ways. Soldiers completely occupy the old city in order to "protect" the 500 Jewish settlers that reside amongst the 165,000 Palestinians there. There are about 4 soldiers per settler. I put protect in quotation marks because the settlers there often harass the Palestinian shopowners, and sometimes are violent towards them. My new friend, who owns a shop in the old city, has been spat on and has had her tables overthrown by settlers who walk through the city. The soldiers do nothing to stop them. Close to 1,000 Palestinian shops have been closed due to the presence of the settlers--  whole roads have been deemed settler-only, where the shops once were. The old city of Hebron used to rival that of Jerusalem which is hard to believe after walking through the depressing streets. There is an eerie feeling there, a feeling I have not felt in most places in Palestine despite the situation. The children are desperate, harassing you to buy bracelets from them.

Because the old city falls under military rule, Palestinian police cannot operate there. This allows for Palestinian criminals to roam free. A really sad aspect of the occupation in Hebron is that people are trying to profit from it. Some Palestinians stop internationals who come to Hebron and take them on tours, for money of course, but the stories they are tell are not necessarily true/may not have happened to them. Another issue is collaborators. It is sickening what the Israelis do to recruit Palestinian spies. People do not know who to trust here; some have been betrayed by their own family members. Children are threatened or bribed to become spies and sometimes if they arrested, and they agree to become spies, they are let out early. During the first intifada, women at salons were drugged and naked pictures of them were taken-- being that HONOR is such a big deal here, some would agree to collaborate so that their pictures were not released.

I have never felt scared being in Palestine but that night as I was walking through the old city, I desperately wanted to get out of there. Luckily I found my place to stay and I slept on the rooftop that night. A soldier was across from my building guarding a different rooftop. I could see them dispersed throughout the old city on many rooftops, all because of the small settler population that illegally resides there. I spent the next day with some new friends who own a women's cooperative in the old city selling beautifully handmade embroidered goods. Because of the situation there, few sales are made. It was honestly depressing sitting there all day and seeing that no one buys anything. Internationals walk by every now and again on tours, always rushing through like they are scared though. The women who work there are absolutely hilarious and we managed to have a good time. One of them has a stick that she chases annoying kids away with. I was invited to stay with one of them in her nearby village. Her husband drove us there through the Hebron hills literally going 100 mph passing people on curves. Whatever, I'm still alive.

We went to a wedding when we got there. The girl about to get married was seriously like 15 years old and looked pretty scared I might add. I wondered if she knew what she was in for that night. At Palestinian weddings, at least one part of it, the woman and men are separated and they have their own dance parties. It was in some random old building, on a dirt floor, and hot as hell. The women were sitting in a circle and some were in the middle dancing. They forced me to dance with them. It was sooo embarassing because I cannot dance (and these women were dancing like pro belly dancers) but I did it anyways.

Afterwards, we went back to their house and smoked argilah and drank tea. Once again I slept on the roof that night because her children asked me to join them. They have a box of baby chickens up there and we had to sleep next to them too. I have 50 mosquito bites now. But, it was worth it.

Another thing I have been thinking about here: the women. Two years ago, when I first came, I honestly did not really consider the women's issues. Sure, you will find the guys at cafes smoking and drinking coffee every night, but I just figured the woman did not want to be doing that and they were just hanging out with all the other woman at home. But now things are becoming alot more clear. The cultural expectations are so strong here. Women can drive, vote, etc, but there are still alot of things that need to change, in my opinion. It's bullshit that men can have more than one wife (although its not that common) and its bullshit that men who "fool around" before marriage are absolved, yet if women were to do that, it would be a huge scandal. Honor killings still occur here, although its rare, but if they do, they still sometimes use this ridiculous old Jordanian law that basically lets men get off the hook. I, of course, am making some MASSIVE generalizations right now, but still. The town that I live in, however, is the most modern Palestinian city and these things are less common, but in some of the more traditional towns, these issues are still huge. Thankfully, the organization I work for seems to be doing alot for women's issues here in Palestine, and I feel like the generation of people my age are more progressive regarding women's rights, but only time will tell.

When you see water
©2011 by Alice Walker

When you see water in a stream

you say: oh, this is stream

water;

When you see water in the river

you say: oh, this is water

of the river;

When you see ocean

water

you say:  This is the ocean’s

water!

But actually water is always

only itself

and does not belong

to any of these containers

though it creates them.

And so it is with you.

***

Truth. We are all water; it is simple. We have placed ourselves into artificial categories, by the systems  that WE have created: religion, culture, language..hierarchies. Just as the rivers and the lakes sometimes merge and meet the sea, I have trickled into this sea where I first felt as if I didn't belong. I thought perhaps I was of the river and "they" were of the sea. But no. There is no such thing as they.  And I am free to flow where I choose because I belong everywhere, and also nowhere. Just as everyone else belongs everywhere, and nowhere, at the same time. The floodgates will inevitably be forced open.