Walls and Checkpoints
Today was my first day crossing the checkpoint at Qalandiya to go to work in the Old City of Jerusalem. I was writing the whole way there and want to share.
I walked up the hill to the bus station and got on the Jerusalem bound bus. The way it works around these parts is that a bus won’t go until it’s full. So we sit and wait, not too long, though. It’s 8.45am and people (with permission to go) have places (Jerusalem) to be. We start on our way and this cute hajja (that’s a woman who has gone on her pilgrimage to Mecca, but it’s also a generic and respectful way to refer to an older lady) got on and sat next to me. She was telling me about her grand daughter, and how proud she is of her. She’s studying law at Birzeit University, and ever since the first grade, has been #1 in her class. My favorite part of the conversation was when she told me that she prefers the happiness that comes from graduation than that which comes from marriage. Now that’s a lady with her head on straight.
We got to the checkpoint. People with Palestinian ID cards had to get off the bus and cross the checkpoint (which has recently changed from a makeshift structure to a bona fide building) by foot. The lines there can be crazy, as it’s totally up to the Israeli soldiers’ mood. He can be a power wielding asshole, or he can let people pass without much fuss. I didn’t have the opportunity to see all that, because these days, those with foreign passports and Jerusalem ID cards stay on the bus. Another Israeli soldier comes on, checks our IDs and decides whether or not we can pass. Today we passed with no trouble. The bus crossed the check point and went to this waiting area. That’s where the people who got off the bus to walk through the checkpoint go to fill up yet another bus. The bus we got on was nearly full, so we didn’t have to wait too long. Eventually it took off and headed for Jerusalem. All along the way, we drove right alongside the wall. It’s this towering structure of concrete slabs butted up next to each other. It’s tall, it’s foreboding, and it’s completely psychotic. I can’t imagine what the Israeli psyche must be like to believe in such inhumanity. The way divides towns and villages. This stretch of it was built right down the middle of the street. For those San Franciscans, imagine if a wall was build down the middle of Mission Street. In order to get to the other side, you have to go to a check point, wait in line, go through this unpredictable process. And what if on one side is your house and on the other is your farm land? Or your mom? Or the store where you buy milk? I just can’t tell you how insane it is.
I’m going to diverge a little and tell you a little bit about settlements. Because the wall is inhumane, but the settlements are horrifying. During our drive to Bethlehem from Ramallah over the weekend, we drove through an area that is infested with settlements. With settlements come bypass roads (for only Israelis and settlers), the destruction of hundreds of years old olive trees, random shooting at Palestinians, and a systematic appropriation of land in the West Bank. Settlements are usually strategically placed on hill tops, affording them a view of the land all around. The landscape in these parts is pretty hilly, and what I saw took my breath away – settlements cropping up on multiple hill tops through the area. What completed the picture were the older settlements that spread down the hills. They become full fledged cities. The situation in 50 years will be one where the settlements creep down the hills and the borders will meld into each other. It matters little what’s in the way – land owned by the Franciscan Patriarch, groves of olive trees hundreds of years old (where are the environmental activists??), and never mind if Palestinians are living there. With all the stories of settlers shooting randomly at Palestinian cars I had this strange combination of vulnerability and fearlessness. This place is fully of contradictions and juxtapositions. In Bethlehem, we stayed at the Jacir Palace Intercontinental hotel. What is now a hotel used to be a large home built in 1910 belonging to a man who would open up his home to anyone who needed a place to stay the night. It was kind of like a caravanserai, and it was gorgeously built with local stone, crafted in Bethlehem by very talented stone workers. Here’s where things get funky. We got into our super gorgeous rooms and noticed the balcony. I opened up and the view was of a refugee camp called Mukheyem Azza. Extreme poverty and extreme wealth face to face. Standing there and looking outside, I was reminded of something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Then I remembered. When I first began hearing about settlements, the image that was relayed to me was of Settler children in the settlement playing in playgrounds and swimming pools on the hill and looking down at Palestinian kids who had nothing to play with. Standing there, I realized that my conspicuous consumption had a lot more in common with settlements than I knew. Here is a moment where the issue of race and religion matter much less than money and power. The two go hand in hand.
Back to the trip to Jerusalem --
I was a privileged girl holding my blue passport, my ticket to a relatively smooth ride to work. It didn’t seem like there was that much to tackle along the way, but I got to work in a little less than one and a half hours. Before, the wall, before the checkpoint, before the occupation, the ride between Ramallah and Jerusalem took 20 minutes max.
I walked up the hill to the bus station and got on the Jerusalem bound bus. The way it works around these parts is that a bus won’t go until it’s full. So we sit and wait, not too long, though. It’s 8.45am and people (with permission to go) have places (Jerusalem) to be. We start on our way and this cute hajja (that’s a woman who has gone on her pilgrimage to Mecca, but it’s also a generic and respectful way to refer to an older lady) got on and sat next to me. She was telling me about her grand daughter, and how proud she is of her. She’s studying law at Birzeit University, and ever since the first grade, has been #1 in her class. My favorite part of the conversation was when she told me that she prefers the happiness that comes from graduation than that which comes from marriage. Now that’s a lady with her head on straight.
We got to the checkpoint. People with Palestinian ID cards had to get off the bus and cross the checkpoint (which has recently changed from a makeshift structure to a bona fide building) by foot. The lines there can be crazy, as it’s totally up to the Israeli soldiers’ mood. He can be a power wielding asshole, or he can let people pass without much fuss. I didn’t have the opportunity to see all that, because these days, those with foreign passports and Jerusalem ID cards stay on the bus. Another Israeli soldier comes on, checks our IDs and decides whether or not we can pass. Today we passed with no trouble. The bus crossed the check point and went to this waiting area. That’s where the people who got off the bus to walk through the checkpoint go to fill up yet another bus. The bus we got on was nearly full, so we didn’t have to wait too long. Eventually it took off and headed for Jerusalem. All along the way, we drove right alongside the wall. It’s this towering structure of concrete slabs butted up next to each other. It’s tall, it’s foreboding, and it’s completely psychotic. I can’t imagine what the Israeli psyche must be like to believe in such inhumanity. The way divides towns and villages. This stretch of it was built right down the middle of the street. For those San Franciscans, imagine if a wall was build down the middle of Mission Street. In order to get to the other side, you have to go to a check point, wait in line, go through this unpredictable process. And what if on one side is your house and on the other is your farm land? Or your mom? Or the store where you buy milk? I just can’t tell you how insane it is.
I’m going to diverge a little and tell you a little bit about settlements. Because the wall is inhumane, but the settlements are horrifying. During our drive to Bethlehem from Ramallah over the weekend, we drove through an area that is infested with settlements. With settlements come bypass roads (for only Israelis and settlers), the destruction of hundreds of years old olive trees, random shooting at Palestinians, and a systematic appropriation of land in the West Bank. Settlements are usually strategically placed on hill tops, affording them a view of the land all around. The landscape in these parts is pretty hilly, and what I saw took my breath away – settlements cropping up on multiple hill tops through the area. What completed the picture were the older settlements that spread down the hills. They become full fledged cities. The situation in 50 years will be one where the settlements creep down the hills and the borders will meld into each other. It matters little what’s in the way – land owned by the Franciscan Patriarch, groves of olive trees hundreds of years old (where are the environmental activists??), and never mind if Palestinians are living there. With all the stories of settlers shooting randomly at Palestinian cars I had this strange combination of vulnerability and fearlessness. This place is fully of contradictions and juxtapositions. In Bethlehem, we stayed at the Jacir Palace Intercontinental hotel. What is now a hotel used to be a large home built in 1910 belonging to a man who would open up his home to anyone who needed a place to stay the night. It was kind of like a caravanserai, and it was gorgeously built with local stone, crafted in Bethlehem by very talented stone workers. Here’s where things get funky. We got into our super gorgeous rooms and noticed the balcony. I opened up and the view was of a refugee camp called Mukheyem Azza. Extreme poverty and extreme wealth face to face. Standing there and looking outside, I was reminded of something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Then I remembered. When I first began hearing about settlements, the image that was relayed to me was of Settler children in the settlement playing in playgrounds and swimming pools on the hill and looking down at Palestinian kids who had nothing to play with. Standing there, I realized that my conspicuous consumption had a lot more in common with settlements than I knew. Here is a moment where the issue of race and religion matter much less than money and power. The two go hand in hand.
Back to the trip to Jerusalem --
I was a privileged girl holding my blue passport, my ticket to a relatively smooth ride to work. It didn’t seem like there was that much to tackle along the way, but I got to work in a little less than one and a half hours. Before, the wall, before the checkpoint, before the occupation, the ride between Ramallah and Jerusalem took 20 minutes max.
posted by kathy at
12:16 PM
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