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Michael was born and raised in Massachusetts. He attended college in Boston and holds a writing degree. Currently, he works in publishing.

 

July 24, 2003 ISRAEL'S BARRIER TO PEACE
By Michael R.

Jayyous, Qalqilya District, Occupied Palestine:

In a drama that is similarly playing out all over Palestine, the village of Jayyous is being systematically segregated from the agricultural land and well water that sustains it. On July 17, the people of this small farming community found a vital route to its southern lands blocked by a massive, 2-meter high array of razor wire. Up until then, Israeli officials had allowed a modest opening there through which locals could pass. The wire was placed as part of the complex of barriers collectively referred to by some as the "security fence" with which Israeli military planners have seen fit to bisect this village, as they have so many others.

On that day, the abrupt addition to the barrier lent a particularly frantic note to the general anguish when word spread that a Bedouin boy and his mother, in town for a doctor's visit, were effectively cut off from their home and the rest of their family on the other side of the fence. When they eventually discovered a path through to their humble shelter, the Israelis closed the route behind them. The Bedouins now fear for their future. Access to the village center is needed to get food and water for themselves and their animals, but the sole functional gate that Israel currently allows through the fence is far away on the other side of the village. Thus, for the Bedouin family, what was a ten-minute walk into town would become an arduous several-hour trek up and down the steepest, most grueling terrain in the area-the additional burden so inconvenient as to be untenable. But, as it turns out, the Israeli army has declared the land they live on and its immediate surroundings a "closed military area"-a catchall, usually ad hoc designation used by the army to limit the free movement of Palestinians, so that any and all alternate routes are out of the question. The Bedouins, in other words, are being told to stay put. Guilty of nothing, they are under de facto house arrest.

Later that afternoon, local boys of about 7 to 14 years of age began spontaneously to pull up the long metal posts that hold the coils of wire in place. The posts, taller than the boys who shook them loose, were carried back down the road or into the adjacent olive groves and flung aside. A number of Boston area activists staying in Jayyous arrived on the scene and observed a small group of private security guards, hired by the construction company to patrol the area, standing a short distance away on the opposite side of the razor wire. The activists reported that the guards, from that location, could see what was happening but appeared unconcerned.

The Boston activists are working here in conjunction with the International Solidarity Movement (ISM), a Palestinian-led group that enlists International activists to support its non-violent resistance to Israel's illegal military occupation of Palestine, now in its 36th year.

Minutes after the Boston activists left the area of the razor wire to head back into town, at least one of the guards began firing his rifle. The activists remained some distance away as children came streaming down the street away from the shooting. Olive trees limited visibility from the road. As the shots continued, one International attempted to survey the situation from a nearby building and was fired upon. At least one young boy claimed he was shot at as he ran into a friend's house. No one was hurt, however.

Though the children had clearly been unarmed, and at no time did the guards receive fire, the rumored existence of "snipers" was conveyed by the guards to Israeli border police who used the pretense to harass a farmer whose home abuts that section of the fence. After arguing with the farmer from across the razor wire, the police fired two shots in his direction, forcing him to take cover.

Just five days earlier, the same area was the site of a peaceful demonstration wherein the women and girls of Jayyous marched to the fence carrying placards that in Arabic, Hebrew and English referred to the barrier as an "apartheid wall." They implored the Israelis to respect the connection to the land that Palestinian farmers must maintain if they are to survive. As if in response, shiny new razor wire, glinting in the sunlight, now stands on the very spot of their protest.

Soldiers also rode into town one night shortly thereafter, at around 1:30A.M., and began shooting at vehicles, private homes, businesses, and even the mosque. Villagers speak of this as a regular occurrence, so it is probably not a response to any particular protest.

It is important to realize that what Israel bills as a "security fence" is often a concrete wall, eight meters high with occasional watchtowers that conceal armed sentries within. Where it is an actual fence, as in Jayyous, it is no less prison-like. In some places, for example, Israeli construction teams have built up an imposing earthen plateau and are crowning it with a 3-meter tall fence capped with barbed wire. The fence will eventually be electrified, though one guard at the site says this is for "sensors" only. Taking into account the access roads that flank both sides, and the stacked razor wire edging, the entire apparatus can be more than 100 meters wide, and its creation entails the confiscation and destruction of Palestinian land, homes and olive trees, many over 500 years old.

Though many assume that the barrier is being erected along the "Green Line"-internationally recognized since 1967 as the dividing line between Israel and the Palestinian Territories-this is not the case. The walls and fences are, in reality, carving deep into the West Bank. The fact that so many Palestinians-up to 200,000-are being stranded on the "Israeli" side of the barrier belies the assertion that its purpose is to protect Israel from its Palestinian neighbors.

In addition to enfolding the illegal colonies Israel has established inside Palestinian territory, the common denominator among the areas being seized is the presence of water wells and high-quality agricultural land. Many believe the so-called "security fence" therefore represents a naked resource grab--taking place in full view of anyone who cares to see. Yet, among the international community, the silence is deafening. Even as Israel claims to be following the Middle East road map to an amicable resolution of the conflict, this ongoing state-sponsored travesty is having devastating consequences for the Palestinian people and the prospects of peace.

In Jayyous, for example, the fence runs between 5 and 6.5 kilometers inside the Green Line and comes between the villagers and 75% of their best agricultural land-land from which 95% of their income is derived. Over the last year or so, tension in the village has been building as progress on the fence leaves them with ever-decreasing access to their land. Originally, the community was promised that every road to the fields would have its own gate through the fence. All but one of the roads have been blocked, leaving only a single gate that is patrolled night and day by a well-armed combination of private security workers and military patrols. Though farmers have a presumptive right to work their land, some report being harassed and beaten by the guards when they try to pass through the gate. The private guards act as proxies for the Israeli army and are in direct communication with soldiers. The resultant fear is preventing many farmers from even trying to get to their crops. Many are family farmers who now refuse to take their children with them through the gate. Some have even resorted to camping out on their land to minimize the risk that comes with traveling back and forth through the gate. It is also hoped that farmers living in tents and sheds on the far side of the fence will create their own "facts on the ground" that might forestall the closing of the gate.

Over the last few weeks, American Internationals from Boston and Denver, as well as a handful of Britons with the Ecumenical Accompaniment Programme in Palestine/Israel, have shown solidarity with the farmers in Jayyous by camping out in the fields with them.

The activists have also kept watch at the gate. As farmers ride up on beat-up tractors or donkey-drawn carts, the Internationals greet them with a "sabaah ilkheer" (good morning) and hold their cameras at the ready. Though the guards have no authority to do so, they often demand to see IDs from those trying to cross to their own land. While activists have been at the gate, such harassments have taken place-but no beatings. Yet, despite whatever protective effect the presence of Internationals may have at the moment, locals fear that the permanent closing of the gate is immanent. In such an event, they will lose not just land but livelihood. For the over 300 families of Jayyous who depend entirely on agriculture for their existence, the formality of an eviction from the village will not be necessary. This ethnic cleansing is part and parcel of the Occupation.

While the village of Jayyous is within the occupied territory's Area B, the village's farmland falls within Area C, which puts it under complete Israeli civil and security control. Regulations are crafted that make successful farming life difficult if not impossible. For example, in one 380-dunum area of Jayyous (equal to 1,520 acres) the water requirement for proper irrigation and a profitable yield is 200,000 cubic meters. Israeli officials, however, arbitrarily set a yearly allowance of only 123,000 cubic meters. To add insult to injury, Israel may set daily limits on the operation of the water pump and levy fines if "too much" water is used. It is easy to forget we are talking about Palestinian farmers using Palestinian water on Palestinian land.

The obvious strategy is to make staying on the land unbearable. Once the cycle of planting, irrigating and harvesting is sufficiently disrupted, the farming life becomes unworkable and people must move away. Israel is then free to concoct legal justifications for seizure of the "uncultivated" land. This tactic of separation-frustration-evacuation-confiscation is not without precedent here. If the history of this conflict is any guide, time is not on the side of the people of Jayyous. But there is no telling how much more rapid the loss of land would be were it not for local activists who have organized many peaceful protests since plans for the fence were first outlined in September 2002.

Several days after the women's protest, a larger demonstration against the fence took place. This one included Palestinian men, women and children from Jayyous and surrounding villages, plus a sizable number of Internationals from ISM and members of the group Jews Against the Occupation. Media attention was predictably scant-just a few Associated Press photographers. But days later, in a pleasant turn-and they hope an auspicious one-Boston activists were out among the olive trees, sitting watch by the gate, when a production team from, of all news outlets, Boston's own WGBH approached them. They were doing a story on the barrier. So, perhaps word is getting out.

Since the day the razor wire first appeared across the southern road, Palestinians, accompanied by Internationals, have made one trip to bring food to the Bedouins. U.N. relief workers made another, but it is not clear for how long such deliveries will be allowed. Local and international activists who approach the fence to check in on the family have elicited gunfire from the guards. And the U.N. visit was serendipitous and is not likely to be repeated; since the individuals in need still live in their home village, they are not technically refugees and do not come under UNRWA's (United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian Refugees) purview.

On July 24, to the surprise of many, the installation of a gate was begun where the fence crosses the southern route. The Bedouins were euphoric until they were told by workers on the site that the gate is for the exclusive use of construction company employees, security guards and Israeli soldiers stationed in the area. It turns out that an army post is scheduled to be built nearby. The new gate could provide easy access for soldiers' incursions into Jayyous, even while villagers themselves continue to be denied passage. Such is life under military rule. The razor wire remains.

Meanwhile, the Bedouins' supply of drinkable water and other basic necessities is running low. The mother, who has diabetes, is without the medical treatment she needs. Though they depend on the wool and milk of their sheep for their income, the father has decided he will release them to search for fresh grazing lands, rather than watch them starve. And in a month's time, when school starts again, will the Bedouin children be allowed to enter the village to attend?

Until their predicament is resolved, this family will dwell in dreadful uncertainty, hostage to the whims of Israeli military planners. In this, they are only a microcosm of Jayyous-and of all Palestine.

Salaam,
Michael