Negotiating Daily Life: Land Access and Checkpoint Encounters

by Steph, November 6th

During this last week while I’ve been picking olives in the Nablus area with Palestinian families and occasionally encountering/confronting soldiers, I’ve been thinking a lot about the role of negotiation in daily life here in Palestine, and also about the role of internationals in that. I often find myself in situations where Palestinians ask for us to talk with soldiers in order to help them gain access to a place, but I’m concerned about how this sometimes could be seen as accommodating the occupation.

Here are some examples of situations I’ve been in recently:

Aside from going through checkpoints, one of my first contacts with soldiers this week was during my third day of harvesting, in the village of Tel. Four of us internationals went to Tel because farmers there often have problems crossing the settler road that cuts between their village and most of their agricultural land. Although Palestinians have the right to access their land, this village had reported recent incidents of denied access.

In the morning, we headed down the hill towards the road, a large and lively group of families and donkeys. Just as we began to cross the road, a jeep of four soldiers pulled up and ordered everyone to stop. The 20-minute conversation between the soldiers and us internationals was something to the effect of them telling us they knew that the farmers had the right to cross the road, but insisted they needed to see IDs from the four of us, as well as from the young men in the group. We tried to reason with them, asking that they let the farmers go ahead, but they would not budge.

It went on and on like this for a while. The soldiers took the hawwiyas (ID cards) of two young men, and claimed they had to check on them. Eventually, the villagers decided to turn back and take another route to their land, through a drainpipe under the road. Some farmers explained that the soldiers often deny them the right to cross the street, telling them instead to go under it in this way. I don’t know what the point of this is, other than to make life more difficult for Palestinians.

When we were told that we were cleared to go, we informed the soldiers that we would stay with the 2 men whose hawwiyas they had taken, until they were finished with them. They seemed surprised by this and immediately returned them to their owners, clearly not actually needing to check up on them.

In this case, I wondered what might have happened if we weren’t there, and my question was answered the next day when our contact in Tel called to report an incident in which soldiers held some farmers who were not accompanied by internationals for over an hour, and dumped a few bags of picked olives onto the ground. I’ve learned this week, mostly through the incidents in which we were not present, that the high court decision about farmers’ rights to access their land safely is only selectively enforced. At the same time, it never feels good to try to negotiate with soldiers for rights that Palestinians already legally have, even if it works at the time.

On Saturday evening, on the way home from dinner, we got a call that Sabatash Checkpoint, on the outskirts of the city, was closed and about 200 Palestinians were waiting in the rain and cold. Thinking we might be able to change the situation, we headed over there at 8:45pm. We arrived to a tense situation of about twelve packed taxis and buses in line and over 100 men in the street waiting. Soldiers had blocked the checkpoint with razor wire and were just standing around. It was dark, raining and cold, and the watchtower was shining a spotlight all over the crowd. People who had been there since 2pm told us about an incident earlier in the day when a man was shot in the leg for verbally defending a woman who was touched by male soldiers after refusing to lift up her shirt. Nobody had been allowed through the checkpoint since.

The eight of us walked up to the checkpoint, and a few crossed the razor wire against the soldiers’ orders to go back. We began talking with them, asking why they wouldn’t let anyone through, and trying to appeal to them by explaining that many had been waiting for over five hours in the cold and rain. It took a lot of talking and complaining and negotiating, but within twenty minutes the soldiers agreed to allow the women through, then the university students on buses, the trucks, and finally, after two hours, the shebab (young men).

While it’s clear that the presence of eight American and European activists was a positive force in changing the situation (after nearly seven hours of closure, they reopened it within twenty minutes of our arrival and confrontation), it does not remain in my mind as a success. As we left, I felt uneasy, thinking about all the times we aren’t able to be there to make changes, and then reminding myself that relying on our presence as internationals in order to open checkpoints, grant land access and provide protection, also isn’t a solution to the problem. In fact, it makes me feel even more a part of this brutal occupation.

The next day we were called back to “Sabatash” and told it was once again closed. When we arrived, the lines of people were moving, but slowly. We decided to leave but then realized that the soldiers were not going to let a group of women walk through, claiming that only people in cars could pass. This is a difficult place to get a taxi and it was cold out, so we tried once again to negotiate them through. A soldier told us he needed to stick by his orders, and couldn’t in his conscience allow them through. Most of our responses to him went something like “But isn’t it worse to have on your conscience that you made a group of women with small children stand in the cold?” and “How would you feel if someone made your mother or sister do this?” Eventually, we suggested that the soldiers get a taxi so the women could go through, and they agreed. We left feeling infuriated that it took international activists relentlessly making suggestions and bothering them, to get the soldiers to actually do it. And once again our involvement made a small change in the situation, but not in the occupation or in this all-too-common process.

If I am in a place where I am asked by Palestinians to try to make a difference, and my negotiating or confronting soldiers can make a situation even temporarily better, I of course feel obligated to do it. Meanwhile, I struggle with my part in creating expectations that Palestinians (or internationals) must negotiate for rights that are either already there on paper, or should be. This is also not a sustainable solution, and I hope that we can all continue to use various tactics in order to directly challenge the occupation, even while trying to maintain a basic level of dignity here in daily life.

“The only way to live” — fear and fury in Urif and Asira

by ISM Nablus

Urif, 9th November

There is chaos in the air. A couple of the young boys have climbed up to one of the upper ridges of the hillside and are scorching the earth with a small blowtorch — an ancient agricultural technique designed to improve the quality of the soil. “Come down immediately! The settlers will shoot you!” the other villagers shout. But their father, the mayor, is back in the Palestinian village and they will not listen to reason. Everyone has stopped picking now and is gazing warily up toward the Israeli settlement of Yitzhar, straining their eyes to see if there is anyone peering out from under one of the red-tiled roofs, gun in hand. Finally, the boys relent to the ever louder protests coming from the valley and saunter down the hill to join their family and neighbors.

The villagers of Urif have been unable to harvest their olives from the groves near Yitzhar for almost six years. Three years ago, one young man in his early twenties was shot dead by Yitzhar colonists, while three other men were badly injured. The trauma imprinted into the hearts of the people here is readily apparent, despite the rather heavy military and police presence around the groves. Israeli soldiers are stationed at regular intervals along the mountain ridges and police come down to check IDs and expel any non-Palestinian from the area. Unfortunately this also includes international solidarity workers, who are relegated to an area further down the valley.

The Israeli military forces seem largely unaware of the threat they pose to Palestinian villagers, even when their presence serves to deter settler attacks. The valley of olives opens up into a circle of land closed in by a settler by-pass road and several settler outposts. The villagers of Urif seem much more willing to enter this area when soldiers are not present. The days pass as one long series of nervous advances and retreats. As the police jeep drives off, people hastily haul their tarpaulin sheets and buckets off the tractor, picking at the nearest tree and stuffing their olives into anything that will hold them — pockets, plastic bags and headscarves.

A grandmother, stunning in a leopard print pinafore and black eyeliner, stays behind in the valley, touching her heart as she speaks of her children and her fears for their safety. Some of her grandchildren and their friends gather around her, their faces grubby and sweaty from work. Yet they do not pick much these days, able only to gather the confidence and calm needed to concentrate on the harvest for a few minutes at a time. Most of their energy is spent on looking out for settlers and soldiers, talking about what they will do if they do come, making sure that someone stays behind to make sure that their trees are not burned down in retaliation for a successful harvest.

Yesterday afternoon, when the police had left for the day, several Yitzhar settlers ventured into the valley. One was on horseback and rode all around the valley, occasionally stopping to peer down the slope at the Palestinian harvesters, silently slumped in his saddle. Five others were play fighting with each other, kicking and jostling along the roadside. All six of them finally retreated to a tin shack that Yitzhar inhabitants set up only a few days ago, jumping their horse over a fence over and over again and whooping with laughter. The villagers of Urif watched from the other side of the valley, now cold in the shadow cast by the mountain opposite, the smug profile of Yitzhar taunting them as it shone in the afternoon sun.

A row of identical white houses on the rim of a valley. This is the challenge that drives the villagers of Urif to get out of their beds in the morning and face the fear that otherwise would consume them. It’s tiring, as witnessed on the face of mayor Abu Ammar. But, as he says “it is the only way to live. We must go on, or give up and be shamed in front of our children.”

Asira Al-Qibliye, Saturday 11th November

“No, no, I’m not going up there”, our driver says, shaking his head and stepping down from the military-made roadblock. “It is too dangerous. I am sorry, you will have to go on your own.” We look down at the fork in the settler by-pass road. A large sign saying “Yitzhar” points up the hill. On the West side of the road leading up to the Yitzhar colony is a large olive grove with trees in tidy rows, but in order to get there the Palestinian owners of the land, from the village of Asira Al-Qibliye, have to cross one major settler thoroughfare and then trek up along another.

Six years ago, the elderly mother of one of the farmers was shot in the stomach by settlers from Yitzhar and had to undergo extensive surgery. The settlers had come down to physically assault the olive harvesters. Since then, the farmers have been reluctant to go to their land for fear of further settler harassment. The land is overgrown with thorns and untended, yet the branches of the trees still weigh down heavily with big juicy olives.

About twenty women and two men from several different families harvested their olives today, in a big rush to finish before the settlers would detect them. Working quickly and efficiently, and yet still finding the time and composure to sing one or two songs in honour of the beautiful sunny day, they were able to finish without any Israeli interference.

Scottish Rabbis volunteer threatened with deportation during olive harvest

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Theresa McDermont, a volunteer from Scotland who came to pick olives with Palestinian farmers and Israeli rabbis today sits in an Israeli detention cell, awaiting deportation. She is not being charged with any crime.

Theresa, a post office worker, has been detained since the 31st of October. She will have a court hearing on the 13th of November and her attorney is Gabi Laski. She came to the country to join Israeli group Rabbis for Human Rights. The group of rabbis and other Israeli and international volunteers are invited by Palestinian farmers to help pick olives during this year’s harvest. Palestinian olive pickers have been facing violence from Israeli settlers and harassment from Israeli soldiers.

On the 8th of November, another olive harvest volunteer with Rabbis was released from Israeli detention. Sam Grafton, a twenty-six year old theatre director from Britain had been picking olives with a Palestinian family in a Nablus village. The Israeli colony of Yitshar had been built near the the family’s olive groves. Israeli border police ordered Sam out of the area and arrested him. The next day, they brought him before a judge who released Sam on conditions that restrict his movement within the Palestinian areas.

Theresa was put into detention on her way into the country and is unlikely to get off so easily.

For more information:
Attorney Gabi Lasky: 054 441 8988
Arik Asherman, Rabbis for Human Rights: 050 560 7034 or 02 648 2757

The blood of the martyrs will fertilize the earth

by Schlomo Bloom, November 6th


The finished mural, I wonder how long it will remain free of bullet holes?

On and off for the past few weeks I have been working on a mural in Balata refugee camp. The mural is to commemorate the approximately 350 martyrs from Balata since the beginning of the second intifada.

The Israeli Occupation Forces (IOF) invade the camp almost every night and terrorize the residents by destroying houses, arresting people, creating explosions and killing people usually between the hours of 12am-4am making it impossible for anyone to sleep.


Destruction of property as a result of the recent invasion by anonymous Balata photographer

There’s not a single family in the camp that doesn’t have at least one tragedy: someone killed, someone in jail for 20 years, someone crippled or disfigured from a gunshot wound. Some families have multiple tragedies.

If Balata was a tourist destination, you’d ask for your money back if there wasn’t an invasion while you were visiting.

I arrived at the end of Ramadan and all the kids were out in the streets playing Jews and Arabs with their brand new toys guns, imitating not what they see on TV, but the reality of their life in the camp.

With the help of camp residents, the wall for the mural was carefully chosen and prepared.

Work on the mural was dependant on the weather and also on the forecast of whether there were invading soldiers or not.

Fi shitta ilyoom? (Is there rain today?)
Fi (There is)

Fi jaysh ilyoom? (Are there soldiers today?)
Fi (There are)

The morning of November 3 I woke up to the sounds of an invasion, an exchange of gun fire on and off from about 2:30am-3:30am. At approximately 3:30am the muezzin announced there was a new martyr. His name was Ibrahim Snakreh and he was 16-years old. He was unarmed and was killed while trying to help his brother Ahmad, aged 19, who had already been shot.

A witness at the scene of the murder reported that Ibrahim heard shouting out in the street, ran outside and saw some of Ahmad’s possessions scattered in the street including his mobile phone which was ringing. Ibrahim picked up the phone in order to bring it to Ahmad, ran a few steps and was shot by a sniper in the back. The bullet emerged through his thigh. He died of his wounds at the hospital. The next day the Israeli media wrote that Ibrahim and Ahmad were terrorists planning a terrorist operation. Witnesses came to the conclusion that it was a random shooting, that snipers were shooting at anything that moved and that they clearly saw that Ibrahim was not armed and was only trying to help his brother.

Ahmad is still in the hospital recovering from his wounds.

There were sounds of explosions on and off for the rest of the night. No one slept much.

I watched Ibrahim’s funeral procession from a roof the next day.

The following three photos were taken at the funeral by an anonymous photographer from Balata:


Ibrahim’s brother kisses him goodbye


A friend says goodbye


Funeral procession

As I was finishing the mural, I photographed some young kids as they put up the new martyr posters of Ibrahim. I recognized him in the photo as one of the kids who was watching me paint the day before. He had asked me if I’d seen someone, I said no I hadn’t, and then he left. Now he’s dead.

A taxi driver took me from Balata to Huwara checkpoint and told me he had seen me painting the mural. He opened the glove compartment of the car and pulled out 6 photos of 6 different men. “Kullu shuhada,” he said, meaning ‘all martyrs’. I asked if they were his friends, he said one was his brother and the rest were his friends.

Checkpoint closed for eight hours after IOF soldier shoots Palestinian

by ISM Nablus, 5th November

Yesterday, the checkpoint known to Nablusians as “Sabatash” was closed to everyone trying to pass it in both directions. Located at a narrow bend in the road, flanked by a steep mountainous slope and a watchtower overlooking an olive grove valley running beside a military road, this checkpoint is notorious for its violent and trigger-happy soldiers. Every day, this checkpoint denies people living north of Nablus city their freedom of movement, as well as preventing the transport of such diverse but equally essential goods as sewage pipes and olive oil to the villages of Asira Ash-Shamalia, An-Naqura and Sebastiya.

By midday, the line of buses, trucks and private cars was already several hundred meters long. The Israeli soldiers at the checkpoint were forcing the young men to get out of their vehicles and lift up their shirts so as to prove that they were not wearing explosive belts around their waists. According to eyewitness reports, 24-year old Haythem Yaseen refused to submit to this humiliating procedure and began to argue with one of the soldiers. In front of the line of waiting students, farmers and workers, the soldier then shot Haythem in the leg with live ammunition as punishment.

“He is a beautiful, gentle man”, said one of Haythem’s fellow students, 22-year old Yusef Hashaka. “He was only standing up for himself and for us. And then they shot him.” Shortly after sustaining his injury, Haythem was abducted by Israeli forces and taken to an Israeli hospital for treatment.

At half past eight, the line of stationary vehicles had grown even longer and most of the male passengers were standing on the verge of the road smoking or jumping up and down in an attempt to keep warm. The soldiers at the checkpoint were saying that their only job was to make sure that the checkpoint would close at eight o’clock and that any people who were still waiting on the Nablus side would have to return to the city, despite the fact that the checkpoint had in practice been closed since two o’clock in the afternoon.

The people, furious at the situation and without money for taxis or anywhere to sleep over in the city, refused to move and stood behind the razor-wire rolled over both car lanes, waiting for a second decision. By this time, most of them had been waiting for over six hours in the cold and rain. After some negotiation on the part of international human rights workers, women, elderly men and children were allowed to pass.

By ten o’clock in the evening, there were about 150 young men left on the Nablus side of the checkpoint. The soldiers were unusually nervous and jumpy throughout the evening, pointing their guns at and scanning their strobe light across the crowd. After further negotiation, they finally agreed to let the young men through in two buses. As the men finally, after eight hours of delay, got into the buses and waved goodbye, Palestinian sources reported that there were large numbers of Israeli special forces and soldiers in the city which would have made it impossible for the men to return to Nablus.

Denied passage through the checkpoint to Asira Ash-Shamalia, the group of human rights workers took refuge on the porch of a nearby mosque until able to return to the city safely. Clashes between Israeli forces and Palestinian resistance fighters took place throughout the Old City for several hours but no one was injured. Two Palestinian men were abducted and are currently being held in an unknown location.

For more information contact ISM Nablus: 059 907 6568