Life in spite of the occupation

In the past week, I've heard story after story after story of what life under occupation is like. Some of the stories are like the one told by Samar (see earlier post about checkpoints and bullying). Others are about a groups in this village and that village which empower women and provide an opportunity for social networking and economic cooperation. Still others are about separation from land and family for "security" reasons.

There is a mix of reality and of hope. Rarely (except one particularly disaffected shopkeeper) do I hear stories of despair and victimization. Amer in Tuq'ua, Jameela in Battir, Nasser in Husan, and Mahmoud in al-Walaja are all very realistic about what life is like under occupation:

• The soldiers come and throw tear gas canisters in the school yard in retaliation for a few boys throwing stones (after being provoked and hand searched by those same soldiers just a few minutes earlier);
• The railroad track that runs along the bottom of the valley which has been around since the Ottoman empire (e.g. at least 100 years) and used to be available for people and the regionally famous eggplants to get to Jerusalem is now cut off from the village by a high chain link fence topped with razor wire. Should the fence not be enough to deter you from trying to get to the train, watch out for the high powered cameras that are placed at the top of the nearby hillsides which watch every movement in the village;
• Soldiers locked the community center's director in the bathroom for four hours while they systematically demolished all of the medical equipment used in the health clinic based in the center;
• A new section of the separation wall will be built on the edge of the village. In order to create the path for the wall to follow, a forest of trees have been uprooted. In the end, the village population will be completely cut off from their agricultural lands (farmers in Palestine usually live in town and go out to their fields each day. The path of the wall usually goes close to the built up areas with little to no regard for the corresponding agricultural lands).

Yet, the teachers at the boy's school (all men) mentor and encourage the boys to respect each other and the world around them, UNESCO is mapping out the ancient city, its aquifers and its farming terraces that overlook the railroad tracks, the community center continues to provide a space for women and children to gather (and to give the limited health care that they can), and the village being surrounded by the wall fights in court for every meter of land that they can win back for the village and for the farmers.

Everywhere I go, I meet Palestinians who are kind, generous, unfailingly hospitable and unflappable. I feel safer walking in the streets of Bethlehem than I do in many cities in the United States. "The outside world thinks that Palestinians are terrorists" (I hear this every day at least twice a day from the people I talk with). But, in truth, they are not. Of course, there are angry and frustrated people who have tried every legal and moral avenue to keep their land, their homes, their families. When they are thwarted at every turn, some act out.

The truth is, however, that many, many more chose to keep living life. They find creative ways to reclaim their heritage, to learn, to meet new people, to maintain their humanity and dignity.

Yesterday, I met a fiery force of nature in the form of a woman named Jameela. She invited three of us to her village to see the beauty of the place, to hear the stories of what life is like, and, of course, to eat lots and lots of food (it's a good thing I'm walking so much while I'm here!). She asked all three of us if this was our first time to Palestine. For us, it was (the other member of our team has been to Palestine two other times). She then asked if we would come back.

I told her that, yes, of course I would. But that I hoped that the next time I came, my passport would be stamped with a visa from Palestine instead of from Israel.

Inshallah!