This past Saturday, I organized a trip to the north (Hares and Mas’ha - in the Salfit region) for the people in my Arabic study and volunteering program. It began with a 40 minute wait at the Bethlehem checkpoint - that is, 40 minutes with our bus in the front of the line and the soldiers completely ignoring us as they let people through from the other side. Finally I got out of the bus and slowly walked towards the soldiers until they yelled at me in Arabic to stop. I asked what the problem was and told them we were late for our tour in Jerusalem. I must have spoken enough English to confuse them or make them decide that it was more tiresome than desirable to give me a hard time, so they motioned the bus to come forward. It’s always hard to tell whether something like that will work, whether getting out of a bus or car to complain to the soldiers will get us through quicker or slow down the process for everyone. And of course, it was only my status as an international that allowed me to try at all.
The day went smoother after that, and we moved from place to place with ease and on time. Our last stop was Munira and Hani Amer’s house in Mas’ha, the house that is completely enclosed by the Wall, ‘security’ gates, and the settlement fence. Their prison is a microcosm of the prison of Palestine, and the occupation gets played out in front of their house on a daily basis (soldiers harassing them, settler kids throwing stones at their house on Shabbat, etc.). I don’t know that I can ever visit them and be completely happy with what I see, but it was wonderful to see the mural that their children and children’s friends painted last week on the Wall. [Kate was there and wrote a wonderful report about it, which you can find, along with pictures, on the personal blog page of the IWPS website - www.iwps.info - go to link at bottom.] Saturday was also the first time in a long time that I’ve seen Munira and Hani relatively happy. Munira says everytime she looks at the Wall now, she’ll remember who painted which parts of the mural.
After our visit, the Holy Land Trust folks headed back to Bethlehem and I joined the IWPS women for what I thought would be a relaxing evening in Nablus. They had planned to take the evening off and visit the hammaam (Turkish bath). So we headed to Huwara, the main checkpoint into Nablus, and were told that Nablus is closed to internationals. The soldiers claimed they were just trying to protect us - didn’t we know there was an incursion going on? So often I’ve heard soldiers talk about military operations like they’re simple facts of life that humans cannot control, like they’re saying, "Be careful, it’s slippery over there." This time I’m glad I didn’t talk directly with the soldiers, because I probably would have been tempted to say something like, "There’s an incursion going on because you - the Israeli army - are invading," or at least to ask, "Why are you so concerned about me? Isn’t it also dangerous for Palestinians to be there?" In any case, there was no getting through Huwara, and the taxi drivers (who always have the most reliable up-to-date information about the travel situation in Palestine) suggested that the only way we’d get in is by hiking over the mountain. Call us crazy, but we decided to do it. The trip involved a couple cars at the beginning and the end, and about an hour of hiking in the middle. "We’d better not get shot trying to get to the hammaam," we kept half-joking to each other. Luckily we made it without running into any soldiers, and aside from the few cockroaches in the hammaam (and the fact that the sauna felt a bit too much like all of Palestine this time of year), we managed to have a relatively relaxing evening.
It was getting out of Nablus that was anything but relaxing, and certainly reminded me that checkpoints are perhaps the most blatantly frustrating manifestation of the occupation. I figured I would try to go out through Huwara, because it is far quicker than leaving any other way. Since the army didn’t want me in Nablus to begin with, I thought maybe they would let me out. This turned out to be the case (although it wasn’t the case for other IWPSers later), but the treatment of the Palestinians that I witnessed was enough for me to question the humanity of the Israeli soldiers.
I arrived at Huwara with Um Fadi, a friend from Hares who I randomly ran into on the way out of Nablus. We stood in line together, although we decided it would be best for her if we didn’t try to go through together. About 100 women and 50 men were standing in several lines (4 lines for women, 2 for men) waiting for the soldiers to call them forward to show their IDs. I looked around and on all sides saw watchtowers and army vehicles (jeeps, a tank, a camouflage bulldozer). Much has been written about the architecture of checkpoints, but it’s something that particularly struck me on Sunday.
The soldiers stood in front of the lines alternately blocking one or another with concrete blocks, plastic barriers, tables, and anything else they had lying around. At one point a soldier began moving quickly towards one of the men’s lines, pushing them backwards. "Irjaa’, irjaa’" he kept repeating ("go back, go back" in Arabic). He was looking one man in the eye while pointing his gun directly at the man’s groin. It was as clear a power game as I’ve seen. He was obviously trying to provoke the Palestinian man, and occasionally moved his gun up to the man’s stomach. When they were parallel to me, I turned to the soldier and said, "What’s the problem? Is there a problem?" I knew this might diminish my chances of getting through, but I could not stand there without at least letting him know I was watching. The soldier ignored me as I repeated my question. Finally he turned to me and said, "Uskut!" I wanted to correct his grammar, to tell him the appropriate way to say "shut up" to a female in Arabic is "Uskuti," but I thought better of it. He then repeated himself in Hebrew. I asked again, "What’s the problem?" and finally he told me, in Hebrew, that the men needed to stand behind ‘this line’ (he pointed to a random spot on the ground, and turned around and walked away). For the next half hour or so, he called people only from the other men’s line. One at a time, two at a time, four at a time (he would hold up a certain number of fingers, and that many people would be allowed to advance). I remembered a comment I heard recently from a woman in Machsom Watch (an Israeli women’s organization that monitors checkpoints). She said, "Soldiers are always asking why Palestinians can’t stand in a straight line.... Israelis invented not standing in line!"
Meanwhile, I heard another young soldier shouting at the women’s lines. "Lo lazuz!" he kept yelling in Hebrew ("Don’t move"). Apparently a couple of the women were fidgeting under the hot sun as they tried to calm their young children, some of whom were crying. The soldier stood a few meters away and pointed at whichever woman he decided could advance to the next soldier, who was checking IDs. If the wrong woman stepped forward, he would yell at everyone and threaten to send people back to the beginning of the line.
Most of the women had been shopping in Nablus, and the soldier first made them put their bags on a table and take out their contents. Apparently this was not good enough, though, because he stepped forward at one point, picked up a large plastic bag that one of the women was carrying, and dumped it from a height onto the table. "Kulam roim?!" he yelled condescendingly at the crowd ("Does everyone see?"). "This is what you must do," he told them in Hebrew. He then stepped back a few meters again, but enforced this absurd and humiliating rule that all women must pick up their bags and completely dump out their contents, rather than carefully taking their new clothes, books, and food out to be checked.
I struggled to keep my composure during these 45 minutes, and noticed that Um Fadi was making conversation with people and keeping a bit of distance between the person in front of her and herself. Checkpoints, like most lines, are crowded and frustrating, and often people will begin pushing each other to get through. Um Fadi instead created camaraderie among the women around us.
When I was finally chosen to move forward, I handed my passport to a soldier. Without opening it, he held it up for another soldier to see, and though he didn’t say anything, his eyes were asking her, "Should we give this international/American a hard time or not?" She said something about the visa that I didn’t understand, at which point he opened my passport, looked at the picture and the visa, and slowly closed it. He then gave me a look that said, "Okay, time for the power game." I was both tired and frustrated, and decided the best strategy was to look ahead (away from him) as though I was ready to walk away, and put my hand out. Apparently he decided it wasn’t worth the energy to harass me, and after a slight hesitation he put the passport in my hand. I walked away slowly without looking at him, and he didn’t stop me. No words passed between us at all. This doesn’t always work, but on Sunday it did. Of course, I am again aware that most Palestinians would not feel comfortable trying this, and that if they did, it could cause serious problems for them. The power game is always a delicate balance between confidence and obedience. It’s a moral issue, a strategic issue, a political issue, a human issue.
On our way out, I noted about 10 young men - on their way into Nablus - being held in a small concrete pen. I walked past them at first, not wanting to jeopardize my own luck, but then turned around and decided to give them cards with Hamoked’s phone number (Hamoked is an Israeli organization that speaks Arabic and helps fight human rights abuses at checkpoints, among other things). I managed to talk to the men for about a minute before the army seemed to notice. The Palestinian men were slightly confused (I can only imagine what they think when a random foreigner approaches them, gives them a card of an Israeli organization, and tells them to call the phone number on it), but at the end they seemed to understand at least enough to make the decision about whether to call. As soon as the soldiers noticed and started to yell at me, I walked away and caught up to Um Fadi. The soldiers had opened the boxes of pastries she had just bought for the Salfit girls’ summer camp the next day, but otherwise she exited unscathed. She had kept her composure the whole time we stood in the line, but after showing me her open boxes, she threw her hands in the air and said, "They ask why Palestinians make explosives." I responded with something I had been thinking for the past hour, and in general since I first came to Palestine: I am constantly shocked when I see the restraint of Palestinians. I often truly marvel over the fact that there isn’t more violence towards Israelis.
One of our meetings Saturday was with Issa Suf, a friend in Hares who is a long time peace activist and was an athletic trainer before being shot and paralyzed by a soldier almost 3 years ago. He has recently written a letter to the soldier who shot him, telling him that he feels only pity, and not anger, towards that soldier and all other soldiers. One of the internationals in our group Saturday said he finds that sentiment almost incomprehensible, and asked Issa what he thought of an early Malcolm X quote that went something like this: "To respond to violence with nonviolence is not only wrong, it is criminal." Issa replied: "I know it is much harder to use nonviolence than to use violence, but it’s the right thing to do. Violence is just not what we are taught. It’s not part of our culture or our religion." I think this is ultimately true. Inshalla (God-willing), the world will someday soon realize the simple truth that Palestinians are overwhelmingly a peaceful people. Maybe justice can unfold from there.
Seeking peace, justice, and truth,
Hannah
