For the sixth year in a row, the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions is offering a summer work camp intended to foster learning, discussion, and friendship between Palestinians, Israelis and internationals.
ICAHD Building Camp 2009: Day 6 & 7 ICAHD Volunteer
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The Occupation Stinks
It’s Friday, August 7¬, and I am in an underground cave in the Bedouin community of Susia, in the South Hebron hills. Bego and Inez have begun to scrape away at the layers of encrusted goat dung with hoes. Ellen, Denise, Julia, Martina, Terry and I bend over to collect the crumbly cakes of dung and carry them up the steps cut into the stone. Outside, we drop them onto a pile. The wind comes from the southwest, from everywhere, raising dust, straw and dung, and it is in our eyes, nose, mouth and ears. The sun is so hot you can hear it burn. I initially thought this job would be easier than the others, as I would be underground part of the time, but the cave is long, and two-thirds of it is a goat pen, and the dung is deep, and the deeper one digs, the more aromatic it becomes. “Shit!” is more than an expletive, it’s what we dig, carry and inhale. It’s in our hair, our clothes. The French videographers decide to interview us in the middle of this. Some go to spas, ashrams, silent retreats; we dig shit. We try to spell each other, working in 10-minute shifts … but the ammonia eventually drives us out … into the sun.
We left Anata this morning, loading 33 mattresses and blankets onto the bus … the other 30 ICAHD volunteers will replace us on Saturday afternoon.
The people here are ’48 refugees from Beersheba. They came here, to the south Hebron hills and built the village of Susia. As Bedouin, they followed seasonal patterns, spending the winters in the town and the summers on their lands in the hills, cultivating and grazing sheep and goats. Those patterns can no longer be followed, and they live in the hills year round. After ’67, they started having problems. Settlers. The first home demolition was in ’68. There was a period of relatively peaceful coexistence with the settlers in the ’70s, but in the ’80s a military base, an archeological site and their corresponding “security zones” engulfed the residents and forced them to relocate to the new Susia. The new Susia is a collection of patched-together tents and ramshackle structures of tin, cardboard, blocks, whatever, along the crest of a hill. Another row of structures is to the east on the opposite crest, and there are a few other structures are scattered below us. There is also a settlement, also called Susia, to the southeast … solid ticky-tacky yellow homes in a grid of green lawns and smooth roads. On the map that we are shown, it is surrounded by a large yellow triangle, which is the security area. The Bedouins of relocated Susia are squashed between Susia National Park and the yellow security area around the settlement of Susia. Five years ago, a boy from the community was shot and killed by a settler in the olive grove below us. Nothing happened to the settler, no investigation, no charges.
The terrain here is arid and rocky, and we walk in from the road over rubble and white stones smoothed by constant foot traffic. There is an openness that I like. Chickens, goats, a camel, beautiful scruffy children. We pass a water hole, a wind turbine and a solar panel, international donations. The water hole is not a well, but for storage. Water is trucked in. One 10-cubic-meter tank costs the community 350 NIS; that’s about 70 euros or 90 dollars. The price of water is way cheap in Israel since it is taken from West Bank aquifers, and the denial of water is one of the ways the Israeli state carries out its ethnic cleansing. The slow sqeeze. No showers until Saturday night at the earliest, back in Anata (and even then, it is an unpredictable trickle… Ramallah itself only gets water five days out of the week, while the areas around Ramallah get water twice a week).
We enter the shade of a tent, and sit on pillows. Nasser welcomes us, and explains their history, with a map, and the work. We will break into three groups. Some will work in the field, making a pool for irrigation, others will put up a tent, and others will clean a cave. That’s my team.
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Fortunately, since we have had enough of the cave cleaning, and the sun is high, it is time for lunch. We sit around a tent floor, and I fall in love with a baby boy with huge eyes. The food is prepared by women, and served by men. It’s very orderly, and they won’t miss you for long: if you haven’t gotten your tea yet, or want more bread, it appears. After lunch, we go to the field in the valley, and carve out a hole which is supposed to be a meter deep, which will be used to irrigate the field below. It can’t be too big. That would attract attention. We also remove rocks from a field. There are quite a few rocks in Palestine. When you start these tasks, they seem infinite and impossible, but then an hour later you look up and see the progress … something that resembles a water catchment, and a field that can be cultivated. Everyone is doing this back-breaking work, to the best of their ability. Certain people work especially hard, and hold the rest of us to a high standard.
As the sun gets lower, blue shadows stretch across the valleys and the topography takes shape. Volunteers and villagers joke and play. We disperse, mingle, take pictures, explore. There is soccer, dabka, figs, flirtation, and the camel gets its walk and “shower.” (It rolls around in a sandy spot.) We have dinner on the cement floors of three tents, sitting on our mattresses from Beit Arabia, trying not to spill rice on Arabia’s blankets. There are two presentations, one by someone from Combatants for Peace and another by Sarha, about her refusal to enlist. I am having difficulty keeping my eyes open, and drift in and out, curled up in Arabia’s plush blankets, among the volunteers around me. There is a soft breeze, a moon and stars. Outside the tents, a bonfire. Someone plays a flute while others sing and clap. It is strong and gorgeous.
Until two days before our departure for South Hebron, the plan was to build 11 bathrooms in nearby Omel Kher, another Bedouin village very close to the settlement of Karmel. They have no electricity, no running water and are subject to harassment and attacks from the neighboring settlers. Men take care of the biological necessities during the day, and women at night. The topography does not suggest pleasant evening strolls (steep slopes, loose rubble, sharp thistles). Two days ago, villagers and their activist supporters were finishing the holes when they were contacted by the civil police and told that if they continued, all the work they had done in addition to the illegal houses in the village (most of them) would be destroyed. ICAHD decided it was too dangerous to continue. This village has already seen many home demolitions. Instead, we would do legal work, such as clearing a road and clearing a field. Midday Sunday, August 9, we arrive. Our hosts serve us lunch in a tent from which we can see the yellow settler houses and the trailers just across the road and up the hill. After lunch, we make our way to the work site. There is a confusing argument between the residents. An older man is very agitated and upset. We descend a steep rocky slope into a narrow valley and clear stones, which we throw into a dry riverbed. The guys spend a lot of time and effort moving a boulder (weighing somewhere between 300 and 500 kilos) by wedging a metal pipe under the stone and between other rocks. There is a shared tenacity … if this is the only job they can do, they will do it. Internationals, Palestinians and Israeli activists will not be defeated by this rock. It finally tumbles into the riverbed. He explains that he was very worried about the Israeli settlers…what they would do when they saw us coming to work. We all thank him. He keeps looking at the ground. Today is Saturday, and the sun is setting.
We meet our other half upon leaving. They will continue this work on Sunday, and clear the road of stones. These are “legal” jobs. There are jokes and goodbyes. In the distance, behind the fence, some of the volunteers noticed the settlers, sitting in lawn chairs, watching us. This afternoon, back in Anata, a call comes through from Omel Kher. The information is minimal, but it appears the settlers and the army came into the village. They don’t need to do much to freeze the work. Their presence alone is threatening, and they get away with murder. What will happen to the people of Omel Kher and Susia once we are gone?
About ICAHD ICAHD is a non-violent, direct-action group originally established to oppose and resist Israeli demolition of Palestinian homes in the Occupied Territories.
