City of…

On Thursday night we attended an iftar (breaking of the Ramadan fast) at the house of the Al-Qurd family in Jerusalem. Their house has been taken over by settlers who claim the house belongs to them. Its hard to argue with the claim because the settler families keep changing, in order to prevent a suit from being filed against any one family. One half of the house is occupied by the settlers, the other by the Al-Qurd family. As we sat and ate and talked, the father, mother, and a small child from the settler family came in and out. There was a mutual atmosphere of ignoring the other.

The family told their story. They told of coming home to find another family occupying their house, demanding that the “Arab intruders” leave. They told of the garbage being thrown into their house, of the parties thrown by settlers on their porch, of the court battles and the suits and counter-suits and the determination not to leave. There was oud and tabla music and singing, and the singer spoke of the lack of leadership and the lack of vision among the Palestinian community, and how that would need to change in order for people not to live in fear. We spoke to folks from the International Solidarity Movement who have been sleeping at the house in case the military were to come to confiscate the house. If the house is confiscated, the entire area will be turned into a settlement development, thus completing one wedge of settlements directly through East Jerusalem. And this from the folks who claim they stand for an “undivided” Jerusalem. The division goes on. The apartheid goes on.

Does our presence matter? Do we encourage? Enhearten? Learn? Do the ISMers prevent an incident from occurring due to fears of the bad publicity it would entail to have to arrest internationals in order to take the house?

On Friday I went to Qalandia checkpoint. We met up with members of the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel (EAPPI) to serve as human rights observers. As it was the last Friday in Ramadan, thousands and thousands of Palestinians were attempting to get to Jerusalem to pray at the Al Aqsa Mosque. Of course, the Occupation doesn’t take a break for Muslim holidays, so the stopping-point and humiliating cattle-chute treatment of folks trying to move from the West Bank to…well, according to international law, other parts of the West Bank, but anyway heading towards Jerusalem, continued unabated. Tens of thousands of people flocked to Qalandia checkpoint and were met by police barricades, armored personnel carries, M-16 armed soldiers, police batons, mounted riot police, sound grenades at the ready, etc., etc. The occupation forces set up roadblocks long before the cattle chute of the checkpoint itself. They divided the women from the men, and checked everyone’s permits when they reached the front. Some were turned away for lack of permit, others for being the wrong age, others just for the heck of it–even some with U.S. passports. Once they were through, they were not allowed to wait near the line for other members of the family that they had been separated from. It was on to the cattle chutes, whether or not you had your grandmother or your husband or your 12 year old son with you.

As I watched–a 12 year old kid getting arrested, trembling with fright and eventually throwing up from terror, a 16 year old girl running from soldiers, grandmothers being yelled at and young girls looking for sisters–and took photos and talked to the UN folks and to mothers and to children and to soldiers, I had to wonder if my presence made any sort of difference. A South African EA and I helped one girl find her sister in the chaos. I stuck close to a military jeep while they held a 12 year old, taking pictures of soldiers and letting the UN know he was there, until they carted him off, crying. A friend of mine said that in one situation he was pretty sure that his presence prevented a more violent situation from developing.

If we hadn’t been there, what would have happened? Maybe nothing at all. Maybe the same thing. As it was, in the absurd context of the situation, it was a relatively ‘calm’ day–a few teenagers arrested, one sound grenade thrown, some families seperated, but nobody shot, no general riot. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe a bit of rioting would be called for. I have no idea. (I will try to post pictures soon). Does our presence matter? Do we remind soldiers of common humanity? Or just intimidate them with the threat of international attention? Do we ease the way for a few Palestinians? Or do we threaten their already threatened dignity even further? Does presence help? Does it harm?