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Hebron: Encounters with the Occupiers

By T. Evans, August 2007

Twenty international human-rights workers and several Palestinian journalists accompanied the children of a very large family out to the fields next to their home. Most adult family members stayed home to avoid the illegal harassment and arrest experienced in the past. The lone adult who did come along was a man of great strength and courage, who, because of his disability, lives in a crippled, child-sized body.

This family’s small parcel of land lies between two settlement blocks that close upon it like a vise. Evidently, the Israelis plan to squeeze out all of the Palestinian homes that lie between the two settlements: settlers have constructed a broad, concrete, stair-stepped pathway across the family’s land to connect them, and armed settlers constantly guard the land. Even more obscenely, the settlers have erected a tent there and deemed it a “synagogue;” it is “holy” and thus given even more protection. For years, the family has not had access to this land upon which they formerly grazed their goats and grew figs and grapes. Family members have been shot at, beaten and imprisoned for daring to set foot upon their own land.

On this afternoon, our action was to hand-till the chunk of field right next to the raggedy synagogue tent. We filled scores of bags with thorny, dried grasses. We didn’t work alone, though! As we cleared the field, more and more Israeli vehicles lined the road alongside the field. Soldiers brandishing rifles surrounded the “synagogue,” and military police questioned the one adult family member. I loved the way this man, crippled in body but huge in spirit, stood steadfastly, placing himself as a barrier between the military and all of his children and us, his back to them, defiant.

Probably because there were so many internationals, we weren’t particularly hassled beyond this absurd show of force. With sufficient international presence, the family could continue preparing the field for agricultural use—but the way things often go, the settlers will likely succeed in the end.

At dusk, as some of us walked back to Tel Rumeida, more adventure ensued. We were walking into an oncoming swarm of scores of settlers heading back to their settlement after attending services. Tangibly hostile energy erupted into slurs and insults, followed by spit and stones. After the worst was over, we came upon Israeli soldiers and told them about the attack. In response, they detained the young Palestinian man with us, taking his ID, searching his belongings and questioning him as we gathered around and protested their inappropriate actions.

Meanwhile, under cover of darkness, another soldier grabbed our 15-year-old Palestinian companion, threw him up against a wall and began punching him in the stomach, grinding him into the wall and kicking his legs out from under him. When we saw, we all started yelling; the soldier frisked the boy briefly and let him go. Earlier I’d wondered why this boy was chain-smoking already--not that smoking actually relieves the stress of being a designated punching bag.

After our Palestinian friends had departed, two young soldiers at a checkpoint demanded our passports. To inspect our passports, one kid stuck the barrel of his M-16 directly into our chests so as to use the little flashlight attached to it. Done to us internationals, it was a freaky prank rather than a serious threat; the power dynamic of such a stunt is vastly different when done to Palestinians. An 18-year-old soldier holds total power over the Occupied. If that power is challenged, he can beat them, arrest them or kill them with impunity.

For the record, it’s hard to have a gun stuck in your chest—one young woman broke down in tears after the event. We internationals have far less ability to endure abuse than the Palestinians. They have sixty years’ practice maintaining a certain dignity while facing repeated pain and humiliation; we sputter and boil much more quickly. We have to remember that if we cause a ruckus, it won’t be taken out on us but on our friends instead; so in solidarity and against some of our natures, we button our lips.

This is T. Evans second trip to Palestine. For lots more stories and photos, see www.deepglitter.com