Chez Abu Tarek

In the hills around Susya, sheep- and goat-herders live in small, tented communities in the wadis (valleys) of Israeli-controlled “Area C” in the West Bank. These communities are fighting for their existence against the Israeli policy of Palestinian expulsion in the region, where strict controls limit the quality of life that is possible for them. These restrictions do not extend to the growing Israeli settlements in the area.

As two ISM volunteers, we spent four days with Abu Tarek and his family in Khirbet Bir al ‘Idd, following a request for internationals to help against recent Israeli settler & soldier intimidation. Abu Tarek used to own a factory, but he had given it up to defend this hillside, just north of the village of Jinba. Israeli settlements were taking-over the Palestinians’ land here, and so he and another man, Abu Nassir, had come to make their living as shepherds, four months previously.

The transition must not have been easy. Whilst Abu Tarek has a house in Yatta, where his children live and attend school, he and his wife, along with their youngest daughter, live amongst these arid hills. The Israeli government forbids the people living here from building any permanent structures, and so a tarpaulin roof covers the stone-walls which create their living quarters. A few metres further down the hill, another tent extends over the mouth of a cave, which is where his flock of sixty sheep spends the night; other caves provide storage for things such as the animals’ food.

They live under the constant harassment of Zionist settlers and the Israeli army. A few days before we arrived, the army had tried to prevent the men from grazing their sheep on these hills. At the same time, the settlers graze their sheep on the Palestinians’ agricultural land, which is vital to their livelihood.
Whilst we were there, I witnessed shots being fired by a settler at some Palestinians who walked near his farm. Under article 49 of the Fourth Geneva Convention, these settlements are illegal, yet the Israeli government allows these occupiers to carry arms. When the Palestinians telephone the police to complain of infringements of their rights, the police have hung-up when hearing their Hebrew spoken with an Arabic inflection.

It was hoped that our presence could defuse any volatile situations, as well as provide encouragement and support to these farmers.

Days here begin at sunrise; with virtually no electricity, natural light is an important commodity. We would breakfast on the delicious bread that Abu Tarek’s wife would bake every morning in the taboon, served with the products of their farming here: warm milk and lebeneh - a kind of yoghurt. The processing of the milk into lebeneh is vital; with no artificial means of refrigeration, and with difficult, infrequent access to the farm, the transformation of milk into a longer-lasting substance is a necessity.

We would then take the flock to graze. The first morning, Abu Tarek explained to me how the hills were notionally divided up between the Palestinians and the settlers. He described the divisions in terms of the dirt-track that led to the settlers’ farm, and the wadi between two hills. This division is visually manifested in the fertility of the hills — the Israelis have the greener, more verdant slopes.

From these hills, the panorama provides a vivid portrayal of the encroachment of the surrounding Israeli settlements, a stark contrast to the restricted development that is afforded the Palestinians. Whilst the settlements have telephones, power lines and other amenities, the Palestinians here do not even have running water: they draw their water from a well.

This first morning there, Abu Tarek left his shepherding stick in my hands as he went off to brew some shay; I was in charge of his flock. As Israeli military jets flew overhead, I had to learn quickly how to prevent the sheep from grazing too far up the hill and thus causing him problems with the settlers. I fared only slightly better at this than I had the previous afternoon when I attempted to help milk the sheep.

The cold evenings were spent with the family in their dwelling. This space was their kitchen, living room and sleeping quarters. The walls provided some respite against the biting wind that blows across these hills, but with an open doorway, the frigid air still creeps in. When things got particularly cold, a fire was lit, but with no chimney, the room quickly filled with smoke. Yet within these stone-walls there is a jovial, soulful atmosphere. The room only fell silent when a mat was brought out to pray.

These people face hardship, both from the land and from the political pressures forced upon them. Life is not easy, but they make it comfortable and pleasant. It is becoming a cliché of my writing here, but the warmth and friendliness in which we were welcomed was incredibly touching. They have had several volunteers come to stay with them over the past few months, but they said they truly counted us as friends. I can only hope that their lives become easier, and that they will no longer need to welcome us in the struggle against occupation, but instead purely as guests.

» A collection of photographs from Khirbet Bir al ‘Idd

To the Hills of South Hebron

It was as we were en-route to another night at Sheikh Jarrah that Ellen, another ISM volunteer, received a phone call. Three of us had just passed through the Qalandiya checkpoint and climbed back aboard the number 18 bus from Ramallah when the call came. We were told that two volunteers were needed to go down to the South Hebron hills for a few days to do some accompaniment work with the local shepherds who had recently faced increasing harassment from settlers and the Israeli army. Mary and I said we’d go.

Following a cold, sleepless night at Sheikh Jarrah, we met our contact, climbed into his 4x4 and left Jerusalem. “We have to pick-up some things in Israel to bring back; technically, it is illegal”, he told us as we headed West. “If we are stopped at a checkpoint, say that I hi-jacked you.” I hoped that he meant “hitch-hike” and that this was not a perverse warning.

We arrived at our first rendezvous; a secluded house where a wind-turbine whirled, overlooking the Israeli valley below. An Israeli man emerged from his workshop and greeted our contact warmly. “We used to steal water-melons together” came the reply as we asked how long these two friends had known each other. The “contraband” we would be driving back were parts for a wind-turbine and solar panels. Dangerous stuff.

We came back into the West Bank, making it through the check-point unhindered, and drove to a small, rural outpost to deliver our trafficked goods. Two families lived in a small, tented community, raising goats and sheep. The story is familiar: despite being in the Palestinian Territories, these people must submit to Israeli rules, which means that they cannot build upon their land. As such, there is no running water, no connection to the electricity grid, and no road to reach their tents.

Not far away stood an Israeli settlement, the power-lines and roads cutting through the hills to reach it. Our 4x4 was forced to struggle up a rocky track to make the delivery. These sources of alternative energy would bring electricity to the people here and improve their standard of living. And this is what makes a wind-turbine, or solar panel, “illegal”.

Protest: Al Ma’sara

Friday is demo-day in the West Bank. Popular committees throughout the territories organise protests against the occupation, the wall and the Israeli settlements, all of which are illegal under international law.

We were armed only with a hand-drawn map of how to find the servees in Bethlehem that would take us to the small, West Bank village of Al Ma’sara. After little sleep the previous night at Sheikh Jarrah, Austin & I stumbled on a bus from Jerusalem to Bethlehem, crossed the checkpoint, and walked to the other side of town in search of the elusive bus.

The demo at Al Ma’sara is in its infancy compared to the more established ones at Bi’lin and Nilin, but we were committed to supporting these initiatives. As a result, internationals were present every week in solidarity with the Palestinians, and to try to reduce the level of repression that would be inflicted upon them.

We met with the organisers, and four of us squashed into the back-seat of a car as we were driven through the village to the place where the march would start. People were exiting the mosque from the Friday prayers, and so Palestinian flags were held out of the car window to lead the way.

This week, the turn-out was high; the Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (DFLP) were celebrating their 41st anniversary and addressed those assembled before handing over to the organisers of the protest. As well as the Palestinians present, there were around 14 internationals, including three Israelis. In the distance, we could see the Israeli army standing beside their jeeps, a roll of barbed wire stretched across the road.

The group of demonstrators, which included many women and children, walked towards the soldiers before dropping on to a settler’s road that runs parallel, in order to reach their farmland. At this point, jeeps rapidly approached, and once close enough, fired tear-gas and sound grenades.

I was initially shocked that this level of repression was so quickly enacted. Surely these types of dispersion tactics are to be taken when faced with violence? But “pre-emptive strikes” are becoming synonymous with the Middle East , and even small, peaceful protests in the West Bank countryside are not spared the aggression of the Israeli army.

As people fled back to the village, the army followed, indiscriminately firing tear-gas into the narrow streets. This entered into the houses lining the street, choking the people inside, the majority of whom had not even participated in the demonstration.

The soldiers continued to fire tear-gas into the village, occasionally directly at the heads of some of the Palestinians who stood below. This type of action is inexcusable — these high-velocity canisters are designed to be fired in a high-arc; a Palestinian man was still in a coma from being hit by a canister only a few weeks before.

Their violence was also aimed at us as well as members of the press who were present. As we stood next to the soldiers, documenting the force that they were using, we were shoved and told to go and join the Palestinians below. I had a sound grenade thrown directly at my feet, showering me with stones as it detonated. Tear gas was then fired at us.

The army eventually left, and I began to question what had just happened. This all took place on land well-within the Palestinian Territories. The use of violence by the Israeli army was totally excessive. I wonder what either side had achieved in this exchange.

Later that afternoon, we hitch-hiked back to Ramallah to meet up with the other volunteers who had all just lived their own experiences of West Bank resistance. Our experience had been relatively tame: in Bi’lin, part of the security barrier had been pulled down by demonstrators and was met by strong Israeli reprisals; at An Nabi Salih, one of our volunteers had been shot in the mouth by a rubber bullet.

So this is how it rolls in the West Bank…

» A slideshow of photographs from the demonstration

Background to Al Ma’sara

The village of Al Ma’sara, which lies south of Bethlehem in the Occupied West Bank, has lost 350 hectares of its farming land to a nearby Israeli settlement. It also lies close to the proposed route of the segregation barrier that Israel is building around the West Bank, in places annexing parts of the Palestinian land. The wall deviates strongly from the United Nations recognised borders of Israel, and is illegal under international law.

The route of the wall runs through the land of Al Ma’sara, and once completed, will block the residents from their farmland, a vital source of their income and sustenance.

Every Friday, throughout the West Bank, demonstrations take place by the Palestinians, who are often joined by international and Israeli demonstrators. These demonstrations are organised by the elected Popular Committees of the villages involved.

There is also an article from the Guardian about Al Ma’sara here.

Sheikh Jarrah: An introduction

This neighbourhood of East Jerusalem is a fault-line of Palestinian-Israeli tension. Twenty-eight Palestinian families, representing approximately 475 people, are under threat of eviction orders on their homes. The precedent has already been set: in August 2009, the al-Ghawi family was evicted from their home, and the following December, the front part of the al-Kurd family’s house—which stands opposite the al-Ghawi’s—was annexed by settlers. Two other families have also lost their homes.

The al-Ghawi family now lives on a tent on the pavement opposite their home, an act of protest that they say they will not abandon until they can return. Their house is occupied by ultra-Orthodox Jewish settlers who make no attempt to hide their Zionist ideals. “We came here because it is crucial for our sovereignty over Jerusalem”, quoted a Jerusalem Post article. The Israeli government provides financial and military support for these actions; their goal to secure the possession of Jerusalem by effectively ethnically cleansing the Palestinians from the belt of neighbourhoods that surround the city.

At night, Orthodox Jews from other areas often come down to incite disorder, knowing they have the backing of Israeli police and soldiers. Zionist tour-groups also often visit the settlements; three days previously, this had resulted in violence, and one of these Orthodox Jews hurled a rock at a four-year old Palestinian boy, hitting him in the face, just below the eye.

As a result of this, ISM maintains a twenty-four hour presence, and so for my first night with them, I volunteered to be part of the night-shift there.

Arriving at the top of the road with Austin, another ISM volunteer, the street-lamps at the bottom of the small hill were extinguished; I had the impression of walking right into the darkness of these events. Opposite the al-Ghawi home sat several Palestinians, including Nasser, the patriarch of the al-Ghawi family. On the opposite side of the road behind a metal fence stood his house, draped in Israeli flags. I can’t imagine what it is like for him to sit here day after day, seeing the people who forcefully removed him from it now using his front door.

As one of three ISM volunteers present that night, I took the midnight to 3am shift, sitting around a small fire that provided some respite from the bitter, cold, winter’s night. I received quite a lesson from a couple of local Palestinians about their attitudes toward the struggle. In remarkably good English they debated about the path that the resistance should follow; one advocating armed struggle, the other stating that “there is no point when facing a huge tank with a Kalashnikov”. “See, there you’re already talking like you’ve lost” came the reply. What they have in common is that they show no fear in dying. “We have already lost everything, what is our life worth?” This generation of Palestinian youth is growing-up with little hope for their lives, a threat far greater than the loss of land.

The debate continued until after midnight, and I was then left the remainder of my shift to contemplate what I had heard. On the one hand, non-violent resistance seems to be making little headway in the path to peace. The strongest Israeli actions towards a resolution have included no halt to illegal settlements in East Jerusalem, and in the West Bank as a whole, “settlement freezes” are largely nominal, as numerous building sites testify. Yet any violent struggle legitimises the use of the already-present Israeli military force, and would destroy any notions of Western sympathy to the cause. The Occident already does nothing to reprimand Israel for its disregard of international laws and UN resolutions. Let’s face it, if this action was taken by any other country in the region, sanctions, embargoes and possibly military intervention would be swiftly forthcoming.

A gazebo is erected next to the al-Kurd house, in order to provide some shelter for those spending the night on the street, and this is where I woke. After little sleep, the relief came so that Austin & I could travel to a demonstration south of Bethlehem.

As we left, Israeli demonstrators began to arrive; every Friday they come from West Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and elsewhere in Israel to show their solidarity with the Palestinians. There is hope, I thought. If Israeli public opinion can be changed, perhaps some advancement can be made along the road to peace.

» A small collections of photos from Sheikh Jarrah.

A (very short) background to Sheikh Jarrah

The twenty-eight families living in the Karm Al-Ja’ouni neighbourhood of Sheikh Jarrah are refugees from 1948, mostly from West Jerusalem and Haifa. Their houses were built in 1956 through a joint project between the United Nations Relief & Works Agency (UNRWA) and the Jordanian government, who were then in control of the West Bank. The families gave-up their food ration cards, therefore forsaking their status as refugees, in return for the houses.

Claims made in 1967 by Jewish Settler organisations have since resulted in eviction orders being issued by Israeli courts. Their claims to the land are based upon falsified Ottoman-era documents, and any Jewish ownership of the land has been disproved by a document located by a Palestinian lawyer. Furthermore, a Palestinian landowner has legally challenged the setters’ claims, presenting documents from 1927 which testify his ownership of the land.

The UNRWA denounces these evictions, “[s]uch acts are in violation of Israel’s obligations under international law”. A United States State Department spokeswoman has also said they constitute violations of Israel’s obligations under US-backed “road map” peace plan.

To Dabble in Activism

It was an early morning on a street corner in Ramallah that I begin my involvement with the International Solidarity Movement (ISM). A group of westerners were drawing on cigarettes whilst drinking coffee from plastic cups as the drone of car horns created that familiar Middle Eastern soundtrack. “Don’t worry, we can get you arrested in a couple of weeks” was the response to my reservations that I didn’t have that much time here. This level of bravado initially deterred me and I doubted my cohesion with the group.

I also questioned myself with regards to my involvement in the events taking place. Thus far, I had been an observer. I would now be stepping over the line to participate in things that I had hitherto been documenting.

During my first few hours with the group, my uncertainty concerning cohesion subsided. These were very motivated & knowledgeable individuals. I think that the braggadocio is a product of the stress that one is under whilst undertaking this kind of activity. The talk of tear-gas & rubber bullets following demonstrations is less about machismo, and more a way to deal with what is happening. With constant movement between demonstrations, vigils and being embedded within communities, life can become very intense.

Add to this the threat of night-raids. Twelve days previously, the Ramallah apartment had been raided for the second time in four days, in contravention of the Oslo accords. Two people were arrested and equipment was confiscated; the previous month, an ISM volunteer had been deported. Every night I spent there, I went to sleep wondering whether IDF soldiers would storm in before dawn. On one occasion, the slam of a door prompted the six of us sharing a room to jump out of bed, shouting “IDF!” as we pulled-on clothes and prepared to defend our rights.

Volunteering in this Palestinian led (and strictly non-violent) organisation is basically about exploiting the freedom—and rights—that our passports, as Westerners, afford us. These are not things that are extended to Palestinians. I had heard that there are even different guidelines governing the rules of engagement by Israeli forces if internationals are present. For example, live-rounds would not be used. In the eyes of the Israeli military, all men are not born equal. Simply by being somewhere, the risk of violence inflicted on the local people is diminished, and illegitimate arrests can be prevented. For us, we risk no “administrative detention” — which means that a Palestinian can be held for six months without facing a direct charge.

A great emphasis is also put on documenting what is happening during the demonstrations, raids and other events. Settler violence in Sheihk Jarrah, for example, is a huge problem. Reports are published on the ISM website following any demonstration or incident, press releases are issued, and video-evidence of brutality can prove invaluable in defending those persecuted.

However, being a strongly pro-Palestinian organisation, the wording of these reports can be heavily biased. ISM is not known for its impartiality. This is something I would struggle with, and something which I feel still looms over my own personal writing on the subject. Yet having borne witness to the injustice that is administered to these people, it is hard to not take the tone of a propagandist writer. All sides are prone to the use of biased, or loaded, language; even reputable news organisations fall prey to the lexical semantics. One side’s terrorist attack, is another side’s targeted killing? An illegal settlement can become an Israeli neighbourhood.

And so it began…