Watering the Tree of Nonviolent Resistance in Firing Zone 918, in the South Hebron Hills

“Nonviolent resistance is like a tree: it needs water to grow.” That was the motto behind Saturday’s gathering of Italians and locals in the Bedouin community of Al-Mufaqara,

which lies just inside Firing Zone 918, in the South Hebron Hills.   We went with a van of other Palestinian news agencies to report on the event- as usual, not sure what to expect.  To add to my confusion, everything was in Italian and Arabic. So this post is based on the kindness of translators. Two Italians had come to share their experiences participating in nonviolent resistance, and to show solidarity with the resistance of local Palestinians, who are currently fighting for the right to stay on their ancestral land.

Al-Mufaqara, home to some 15 families, is wedged between the Green Line to the south, and a band of illegal settlements to the north.  The settlers, most of whom are radically religious (as opposed to settlers in other areas who are just enticed to live in settlements for financial reasons, because of the huge subsidies settlements receive from the Israeli government) are known to harass children on their way to school and burn Palestinians’ crops.  Additionally, the Israeli army continually demolishes homes and other structures in the community.  When we visited on Saturday, the village’s mosque, which Israeli forces demolished twice, was little more than a pile of rubble.

The village's mosque

Sara, an Operation Dove volunteer who has been in Al-Mufaqara for over a year, explained that the group escorts children to school and provides an international, peacekeeping presence, while supporting Palestinian nonviolent resistance.  This resistance, Sara explained, takes the form of daily acts such as re-building demolished structures, continuing to shepherd and attend school despite being attacked, and most importantly, staying on the land.

Sara continued, saying the people of Al-Mufaqara don’t just wish to survive this systemic violence; instead they are fighting to bring electricity and water to the community, part of affirming their presence and their right to thrive on their land.

Operation Dove, which has been working in Al-Mufaqara since 2004, organizes one annual event for the community, in which they invite guests to share their experiences participating in nonviolent resistance. The goal of this initiative, which was started on request of the local Popular Committee, is to “water the tree of nonviolent resistance” that thrives in Al-Mufaqara.

Some girls took me to the sheep's pen, where these birds were taking advantage of the shade. 

Two men, active during the 1970’s “Years of Lead” conflict in Italy, shared their paths to non-violence.  One man was part of the armed resistance, and during one occasion had killed a cohort of Italian police. The other was the son of one of those police officers.  While the first spent 30 years in prison with multiple life sentences, the other spent those years with a ‘heart full of hatred,’ as he put it. 

Eventually, the prisoner joined a hunger strike advocating for humane conditions in the prison. “When I began to fight in a nonviolent way,” he said, “I no longer felt isolated, and it became possible for me to connect and communicate with people.” That initial step in nonviolent resistance impacted him deeply, and he began to advocate for a cessation of armed struggle. Meanwhile, the man whose father was murdered realized that his wound could not heal while he was still full of hate.  Eventually the two men decided to meet one another. 

“We are not here to give advice to the Palestinians in their struggle, but simply to share our experiences,” they said. “We want to testify that it is possible to meet [one’s adversaries] as human beings.”  In this particular interview, the questions were asked by two journalists in Arabic, translated into English by a Palestinian woman, then translated from English into Italian by an Operation Dove volunteer. The answers then went through the reverse process.  

Al-Mufaqara lies within Area C, which constitutes some 60% of the West Bank and is under complete Israeli military and administrative authority. Firing Zone 918 is a 30 square-mile area within Area C in the South Hebron Hills, which has been illegally declared a “military training zone” by the Israeli regime. The area’sresidents were evicted in 1999, however they successfully petitioned the Israeli High Court of Justice, which allowed for their “temporary return.” For over a decade since, the approximately 1000 people in the area have been living with uncertainty of their future and continued harassment by the Israeli military and illegal settlers.

The families of Al-Mafuqara, along with the other residents in Firing Zone 918 will continue to resist Israeli military and settler attempts to displace them or delegitimize their right to continue living on the land their ancestors have farmed and shepherded for over two centuries.   

photos and post by Jesse

things that are thrown & other musings: stones & teargas in Aida

I sat on the roof of our new apartment this evening to write birthday postcards to my sister and niece. The weather changed quickly in the past few days from dry, heavy summer to chilly autumn and my meager sweatshirt barely cut it. Sounds of the refugee camp spread out before me, children yelling, hammers banging, the constant drone of a place that is 0.03 square miles large and is home to around5,000 people.

A boy yelled “ya allah” (oh god) and I turned to see three streams of teargas arching over rooftops near the camp’s entrance. A few more booms followed.  Kids watched from the rooftops. A voice cleared on the loudspeaker and began the evening call to prayer. Clouds turned to ash as the sun slipped behind Beit Jala.

The second time we visited Aida was our first time encountering teargas.

On that hot August day I was kneeling on rough cement with a 5 year old girl, helping her take a picture when people suddenly came running, holding cloth to their faces. The air became needles. We rushed inside, the small ones cried and coughed, and our eyes started tearing. When the air cleared Muki and I headed toward the entrance of Aida, invariably hitting clouds of the invisible gas. We still weren’t sure what was going on.  A group of young men with rock slingers and cloths tied around their faces- identity protection- ran past a waiting ambulance, followed by teargas.

We got on a roof with other local and international photographers. Below us dozens of young men threw rocks at about 10 fully armed soldiers a few hundred feet away. The soldiers occasionally rocketed a canister of teargas toward the boys, and a few of the brave ones would plunge into the burning fumes to grab the canister and hurl it back at the soldiers, or generally away from the camp, while the rest ran away until their eyes stopped crying.  We learned these clashes had been sparked by the death of three Palestinians by Israeli soldiers near Ramallah a few days previously.

We moved to Aida last week, grateful to be closer to work and be able to see another, different, Palestinian reality, but a question is growing on our kitchen table: what does it mean to choose to live in a refugee camp? People do not choose to be refugees. The people living here have been doing so for six and a half decades (since 1948) waiting for the time when they will return to their ancestors’ or childhood villages, as is their right under international law. The refugees do not own the houses they have paid to build, or the land on which they live. 

There were clashes the day we moved in, sparked by the intense repression of Palestinians in Hebron that had been sparked by the death of an Israeli soldier.  From what we have gathered, throwing stones is a form of everyday resistance practiced frequently, and is always responded to with teargas, rubber bullets and stunt grenades. It’s so common, in fact, that I haven’t really noticed how often the clashes have happened in the past 10 days living here. But they are especially intense when there is a peak in violence against Palestinians in the area.

A few days later, our friend Ibrahim got a permit to cross the checkpoint into ’48 (as Israel is called here). It was supposed to have been a two-week permit for a time of Christian feasts, but it arrived in the mail the day before it was going to expire.  We went with him to al-Quds (Jerusalem) so he could visit a few friends and we all could have one day in the city together.  Initially we weren’t sure if the Old City would be open, as there have been intense clashes there for a few weeks during which extremist Jews have stormed the al-Aqsa Mosque compound (closed to all non-Muslims except for weekly tourist hours) (it’s the compound that has the Dome of the Rock, but the al-Aqsa mosque is a different building).  Reports have come out about Israeli soldiers firing teargas at Muslim worshipers and that extremists have damaged parts of the mosque.

It turned out that the Old City was open, and as we meandered through the winding cobbled streets I got a call from by boss at PNN. She asked if everything was alright. I was confused, said yes, and realized there must have been something going on in Aida. The next day I learned that the camp clashes had been particularly intense, sparked by the continued violence at al-Aqsa mosque.  

The next day our tap water tasted vaguely, but distinctly, like teargas.

photos & post by Jesse