As is distinctly evident from my incessant posting of photos on Facebook, I have recently spent time in Israel/Palestine with my family. During our trip I visited an abundance of holy sites: stood on the site where Jesus supposedly ascended to heaven, pressed my face up to the tomb of Mary, and walked in the blistering heat down the Mount of Olives. On top of that I've visited sites sacred to Islam and Judaism too. I think it's fair to say that I have swallowed enough holiness to get me into heaven three times over. There are biblical references at every corner you turn. It was a trip of a lifetime and one that I am fortunate enough to have embarked on with the ever knowledgeable and enthusiastic guidance of Simon Winn. Yet what struck me most poignantly during my time there was not primarily the religious sacredness that the country brims with, but the relentless injustices which punctuate the lives of the Holy Land's indigenous inhabitants: the Palestinian people.
Many people reading this will have a far greater understanding of the plight facing Palestinians living in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip than I do, and it's worth mentioning that this blog post is not intended to be an expansive history of the Palestinian people (you can find a plethora of great resources regarding this online to educate yourself with, if need be). But I feel compelled to write as a challenge to myself, and my wider group of peers and friends, to reflect on what we are doing to aid other young men and women like us - who share our dreams, aspirations and interests but whose opportunities are restricted by oppressive colonising forces (namely, illegal Israeli settlements and general anti-Arab sentiment). What follows is a personal reflection from time spent in Bethlehem meeting young Palestinian people and discussing the conflict (but also life at large) with them.
On one of our first days in the country, Dad, Charlie and I passed through Checkpoint 300 (a busy Israeli checkpoint situated between Jerusalem and Bethlehem and guarded by armed soldiers who monitor those entering Israeli territory - ultimately barring many Palestinians from moving freely between towns) to visit Banksy's 'Walled Off Hotel'. The hotel is a project created by the Bristol-born, provocative graffiti artist Banksy. It combines hotel services, an art gallery featuring the work of budding Palestinian artists, and a museum crucially dedicated to bringing a Palestinian voice to the narrative governing the land. The museum is immensely informative - it provides an accessible walk through of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict for those will little grounding in its history. Starting with Britain leaving Palestine in 1948 and the Declaration of the Establishment of the State of Israel, the museum then guides you through the key socio-political events of the area since then - the two intifadas, various wars from 1948 through to the 2014 Gaza conflict, the erection of the separation wall, and the persistent injustices faced by Palestinians such as land confiscation. The conflict is notoriously complex and involves many different groups and ideologies. But one aspect of it that has struck me particularly is the way it has impeded upon the lives of young Palestinians at the same stage of life as myself.
Last week mum, dad, Charlie and I were fortunate enough to visit Bethlehem University, located in the West Bank in Area A (land governed by Palestinian authorities). Charlie and I were both exhausted from a tiring (but brilliant) few days traipsing around significant sites in the unrelenting Middle Eastern heat, and were somewhat unimpressed that dad wanted us out of bed by 7.30am to visit a university (something which we are both supposed to be on a break from). But what followed was by far the most enriching experience of the trip.
The university's delightful 'guest relations officer', Amjaad, greeted us and gave us a tour of the stunning campus and then proceeded to introduce us to three young Palestinian students from the university - Sera, Donna, and Farah. Sera is in her second year of a business relations degree and has aspirations to study further and embark on her Masters. Donna is also a second year business student hoping to become an accountant in the near future. Farah is a third year biology student and wants to enter a career in either occupational therapy or music therapy – but, like me, he is hit hard by the looming question which the final year of a degree inevitably elicits: "where to from now?" All three are keen musicians; I had little to offer the conversation here, whereas Charlie found common ground with Farah in their love of singing (although worth noting that he was mortified by dad proclaiming that they should all go on YouTube and "look him up" - as though my little brother is already a burgeoning pop star). Spotting my Lorde tote bag (yes, I will shamelessly promote my fav on my international travels) Sera asked me excitedly if I liked her new album and we spent a solid few minutes fan girling hard over the kiwi icon. I'm ashamed to admit that I did not expect to find as ardent a Lorde fan as myself in sun baked Palestine - a culture seemingly far removed from little NZ. Both girls loved my tattoo (Dad closed his ears to our conversation at this point) and Donna and I then laughed a lot about the mutual distaste that our respective Grandmas expressed over our nose piercings.
It was a wonderful few hours of discussion and cultural exchange. But in reflection of the lived realities of young Palestinians, the conversation transcended niceties and mutual interest in pop culture to take a more serious turn. When Charlie asked why the university is made up of 80% women and only 20% men, Donna explained how many young men have been arrested by Israeli forces by the time they have reached university age – often from either throwing stones at watchtowers in protest of the callous treatment they experience at the hands of Israeli governance, or for posting politically potent material online. She went on to say that there were other contributing factors to the starkly unequal statistic: often an adherence to traditional gender roles dictates that boys feel pressure to provide financially for the family, so in order to fulfil this role they start work rather than studying. Moreover, some more families feel it would be safer for their sons to emigrate overseas rather than continue to live in Palestine. Life is restrictive for young Palestinians, and despite the glowing lust for life embodied by Sera, Donna, and Farah the reality still remains that their experiences as young adults are devoid of much of the opportunity that we kiwi and British young people have access to.
After laughing about how she would rather hang around at the uni campus for hours on end with her friends than going home in her spare time, Donna’s expression grew grave as she began to speak of the ways in which her experience of youth differs distinctly from mine. “To get to a movie theatre”, she explained, “you either have to travel to Jerusalem or go to Ramallah.” It is not possible for either Sera or Donna to travel to Jerusalem without permits, as they are Green Cards (there are differing levels of Palestinian citizenship status; being Green Cards mean they have to go through the administratively heavy process of applying for a permit, which may well be denied, in order to enter Israel. So, they’re pretty much bound to staying in Palestine), and Ramallah is a lengthy trip by public transport. Freedom of movement is not a right extended to many young Palestinians. It struck me during my conversation with Sera, when I excitedly told her I was seeing Lorde live later on this year in Glasgow, that this quintessentially youthful experience (the sweaty euphoria of large scale music concerts) is something she does not have access to in the same way I do. For Sera, as a Green Card, she is not permitted to travel from Israel’s main airport: Ben Gurion. Instead, her only way of travelling internationally is by flying from the airport of neighbouring Arab nation, Jordan, in its capital city Amman. But travel from Bethlehem to Amman is not easy - it takes two days and is costly both financially and administratively. Travellers who take this route must pass through three checkpoints: Palestinian, Israeli and Jordanian. Palestinians once roamed this country – their home – freely. Yet now they are forcibly alienated from their land and family by the separation barrier, their olive groves (which provide economic sustenance) are ripped from the earth to make way for illegal Israeli settlements, and their freedom of movement is severely restricted. Many of us intuitively know that this is the situation for Palestinians – we’ve read about it in the news. But realising that a student like Sera (with spookily similar interests and desires for the future as me) is unable to embrace the very youthful experiences which I take entirely for granted gave me a renewed emotional understanding of this blatant injustice.
As all three students shared more with us, it became clear that these practical and physical injustices are bolstered by an arguably more sinister form of persecution: personal aggression and intolerance shown towards them. Settler violence committed against Palestinians is common. But as well as this, Donna shared with us that even in reconciliation programmes – like one she was part of which focused on bringing young Israeli and Palestinians together to work on technological projects – objection by some of the Israeli participants to Palestinian existence obscured any potential progress.
Farah was quick to interject and clarify that amicable Israelis whom they get on well with do exist. He knew an Israeli girl through musical endeavours who became his friend and they would spend time together. But this inter-cultural connection was not straightforward. He continued on to tell us that once he hung out with her wider friend group and felt discomfort at the tangible fear her friends felt of him. “It wasn’t nice, so I stopped hanging out with them”, he reflected. Farah’s facial expressions became illuminated as he spoke about the cruel ramifications of stereotyping. Upon asking what we, as young kiwi Brits could do to aid their situation, Farah, impassioned, urged us to challenge the stereotyping of Arabs. He asked us to view the image that Western media outlets spout about Arab nations with a critical lens. That all Palestinians are terrorists, and that the West Bank is an area ravaged by unrelenting violence are two inextricably erroneous and damaging generalisations which frequently permeate Western narratives. In fact, as I saw, the West Bank is a vibrant place full of people peacefully going about their lives. It is bustling with markets and home to some of the most exceptionally gracious, intelligent, and ambitious young people that I have been fortunate enough to meet. But as they shared with us, life isn’t straightforward for them. Relations with their Israeli neighbours are complex. Donna lightheartedly joked that she asked an Israeli girl (a friend met during her time spent at the technology initiative) whether she would see her at a checkpoint sometime in the near future. I found myself imagining the irony of a situation in which Donna’s new friend, as part of her mandatory service to the Israeli army – the IDF, would be the stony-faced officer checking Donna’s documents and potentially restricting her travel. And anyway, even if they wanted to maintain a friendship with their Israeli peers, Donna pointed out that is near impossible due to the enormous difficulty of trying to attain a permit for travel to Israel. From the other end too, it’s practically impossible as Israelis are banned from entering Palestine by the Israeli government due to its perceived constant threat of terrorism. The stories of these three reminded me that even if intolerance is not explicitly proclaimed (although, it often is in their cases), it is something that can still be felt acutely.
Farah was quick to interject and clarify that amicable Israelis whom they get on well with do exist. He knew an Israeli girl through musical endeavours who became his friend and they would spend time together. But this inter-cultural connection was not straightforward. He continued on to tell us that once he hung out with her wider friend group and felt discomfort at the tangible fear her friends felt of him. “It wasn’t nice, so I stopped hanging out with them”, he reflected. Farah’s facial expressions became illuminated as he spoke about the cruel ramifications of stereotyping. Upon asking what we, as young kiwi Brits could do to aid their situation, Farah, impassioned, urged us to challenge the stereotyping of Arabs. He asked us to view the image that Western media outlets spout about Arab nations with a critical lens. That all Palestinians are terrorists, and that the West Bank is an area ravaged by unrelenting violence are two inextricably erroneous and damaging generalisations which frequently permeate Western narratives. In fact, as I saw, the West Bank is a vibrant place full of people peacefully going about their lives. It is bustling with markets and home to some of the most exceptionally gracious, intelligent, and ambitious young people that I have been fortunate enough to meet. But as they shared with us, life isn’t straightforward for them. Relations with their Israeli neighbours are complex. Donna lightheartedly joked that she asked an Israeli girl (a friend met during her time spent at the technology initiative) whether she would see her at a checkpoint sometime in the near future. I found myself imagining the irony of a situation in which Donna’s new friend, as part of her mandatory service to the Israeli army – the IDF, would be the stony-faced officer checking Donna’s documents and potentially restricting her travel. And anyway, even if they wanted to maintain a friendship with their Israeli peers, Donna pointed out that is near impossible due to the enormous difficulty of trying to attain a permit for travel to Israel. From the other end too, it’s practically impossible as Israelis are banned from entering Palestine by the Israeli government due to its perceived constant threat of terrorism. The stories of these three reminded me that even if intolerance is not explicitly proclaimed (although, it often is in their cases), it is something that can still be felt acutely.
The situation here isn't black and white - and I'm overtly aware of the dangers of oversimplifying a conflict which spans decades and is drenched in intricacies. But what I do know is that sitting below the discord between Palestinian and Israeli authorities, amongst both the violence and the peace, are three twenty-year old Palestinians who feel the heavy burden of this conflict on a daily basis. They are the ones paying the price. I'm reminded now more than ever that life is not an even playing field. Why should I get to attend a Lorde concert but not Sera? Why should I get to live without fear of imminent hostility but not they? Why do I not have to worry about my university being bombed during times of heightened conflict, but they do? And what the hell is my feminism worth if it is not advocating for young women like Sera and Donna (and men like Farah) alongside my peers in NZ and the UK? Nothing, is the answer - that is not a rhetorical question.
Perfect Places has begun to play, signifying that Melodrama (the album I have been listening to religiously whilst writing this) is drawing to a close – prompting me to wrap up my thoughts. As ever, the wondrous lyrics of Lorde align with my innermost sentiments, and now is no exception. "What the f**k are perfect places, anyway?" This place, regarded as perfect by many – steeped in glorious history and ancient spirituality, is plagued by deep-seated injustices which serve to oppress Palestinians everyday.
While no simple solution to resolving this conflict exists, it is clear to me that there are palpable and practical steps we can be actively taking to stand in solidarity with our Palestinian peers. Challenging derogatory stereotyping and maintaining a critical awareness of the existence of multiple dialogues within the conflict is a good start. Advocacy and activism naturally follow. I think that ultimately empathy has to be at the core of our solidarity. Call me an idealist, but I firmly believe social change is made possible through empathy. Realising our shared humanity with others is a powerful force for meaningful connection and positive change. But as my dear friend Max reminded me - the issue with this situation is not over how we develop empathy with our Palestinian sisters and brothers, but rather, how do we sustain such a level that will compel us to work ardently towards transformative social change? For me, the question becomes: how I am going to extend my intuitive and emotional empathy into praxis? Empathy is of immense importance, but it is only the first step. So let's embrace our shared humanity and harness this empathy with our Palestinian sisters and brothers to level out the playing field. Let's broaden our feminisms and work towards equal opportunities for young people like (or equally unlike) ourselves across the world. As Daoud Nassar of Palestinian organisation Tent of Nations has said, "We don't need outsiders who come and tell us what to do. We need friends who come and join us in our struggle and vision. They help us keep the hope alive."
(For your interest - Bethlehem University is a tertiary institution committed to facilitating cultural unity and enriching the lives of young Palestinians. You can uncover more about its valuable presence as a bastion of higher education in the West Bank in this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vQeqtFl4JrY )
A useful image which depicts illegal Israeli encroachment into Palestinian land post 1946:
Bethlehem University's motto reads
"Remain Undivided"
(Charlie, Sera, me, Donna, Farah)
