Surrounded by the state of Israel, and the Kingdom of Jordan as its eastern
neighbour, the West Bank is currently home
to approximately 2 million Palestinians. Ever since the Six-‐Day War in 1967
this territory is occupied and largely
controlled by the israeli military. A precise description of this region is
hardly possible to give. One will find a
manifold place with vast landscapes that could not be more different from one
another: the green mountains around Salfit
with their seemingly endless olive groves, the dry hills of the Judaean Desert
close to Jerusalem, and the prospering
lowlands around Jericho.
One will find sleepy little villages in the valleys and peasants cultivating
their lands like their ancestors did in
yesteryears. When going into the cities, one will automatically participate with
the buzz of activity and see how the
cities are opening and growing. Next to the traditional markets called suks, new
shopping-‐ malls grow into the sky,
and huge advertisement banners show western products. In Ramallah one can meet a
family that have made a little wealth
with their importation company. When the parents became refugees during the
Israeli War of Independence in 1948, they
emigrated to the USA. Some years ago, their sons returned to the West Bank. When
one asks them why they decided to come
back, they answer that they did not want to surrender the land to the others,
the Israelis.
In Jericho, a young doctor tells his story. When he went to Romania to study
medicine, his family at home sent him a
better part of their income to finance his studies. He wants to go back to
Europe because, like many others, he finds it
hard to get a good job in the West Bank and feels he has better chances abroad.
Inside houses, postcards hang on the
walls: correspondences from relatives who went to the Netherlands or Canada to
seek a better life. Jobs are rare in this
region. When they come, they are most likely temporary. The perpetual political
fragility of the area means that both
local and foreign businesses invest very timidly, and have done so for decades.
When one drives through the outskirts of Ramallah, one will notice the housing
estates and the growth of the city. Many
people work in Ramallah, but few are able to live there. Consequently, a
significant number of houses remain empty. The
signs on the construction sites identify the investors of these projects:
members of the European Union or the United
States.
In a bakery at the suk in Nablus, a man talks about foreign aid given by
European and North American countries. He is
grateful, but points out that as long as the population does not have autonomy
over their land, the help given will lead
to nothing. He hopes that, one day, the Palestinians will be able to build a
life with their own resources, instead of
existing only through the help of foreign countries and organizations.
The Jordan Valley, with its temperate climate, fertile soil and large water
resources offers these capabilities. The
Jordan Valley, however, is a district by the Jordanian border and is therefore
declared as a restricted area. As
Palestinians are not allowed to enter without permission, Israeli companies use
this area to cultivate fruits and
vegetables in greenhouses and fields for their local markets and for exportation
to Europe.
The beginning of the last bloody uprising against the occupation, the second
intifada, dates back more than 10 years.
In some city and village streets in the West Bank, weathered posters reminding
its fighters of the cause still hang on
the walls. For a youth in Nablus, they are „Freedom Fighters“: the only option
to resist against a militarily superior
enemy. For others, they are men who committed terrorist attacks on Israelis and,
through the choice of violence,
discredited the rest of the Palestinian people. An actor in the refugee camp of
Jenin says that, in the past, every
Palestinian would have liked to become a martyr in the battle for independence;
nowadays most of the people here prefer
to die old. For the barber in Jericho, the second intifada ruined everything
that had been built over the previous
years. What changed is, partly, easily recognizable. For instance, there is now
a fortified border that divides the West
Bank and Israel with the purpose of protecting Israeli citizens from attacks.
However, the barrier also runs deep into
the West Bank, separating villages from one another, and peasants from their
fields. Separation wall, security fence,
apartheid wall – the given name depends on the point of view. One who wants to
go to Israel must cross the border
through one of the several checkpoints. Not everyone gets the necessary
permission, young men hardly ever – they are
presumed to be potential terrorists and therefore a security risk.
A teacher from Jenin once received permission to visit Israel. He proudly shows
images from his visit to Jerusalem where
he is standing in front of the Al-‐Aqsa mosque and the Dome of the Rock,
Islam‘s third holiest site. People who live in
the West Bank are not able to visit it whenever it is convenient for them. Some
have never had the chance to go. The
desire to go is obviously represented in the form of images and items put in and
around the house.
On a table in a living room in Salfit stands a model of the Dome of the Rock.
The family‘s youngest son, arrested during
the second intifada, built it whilst he was in prison. Many were detained and
apparently everyone knows someone who is
still in prison. In the collective memory, the conflict is omnipresent. Today,
when gazing at the hilltops in the
surrounding landscape, one is reminded of the presence of Israeli settlers who
leave their tracks on these barren
places: well provided for settlements, consisting of containers and trailer
houses, where the flag of Israel waves in
the air.
The blue star of david on a white background is also flying in Kalandia,
currently the biggest checkpoint in the West
Bank, located between Jerusalem and Ramallah. Close to the street, where
hundreds of vehicles are waiting in crowded
conditions to pass through the border into Israel, a group of children throws
stones in the direction of a tin puppet.
Some days later, one will see the same place and familiar scenes in the news.
This time young men are masked and the
stones fly towards Israeli soldiers. It is the same generation of young
Palestinians that one can see playing soccer in
the streets and backyards, and that goes crazy for the teams in the Spanish
soccer league. In these moments, the
conflict seems far away. They adore Messi and Ronaldo, and ask which team you
prefer. Barcelona or Madrid – and you have
to make a choice.
Between remembering the past and holding hope for a different future, it seems
to be this generation that moves between
existential extremes.
The teacher from Jenin has been married for a short period of time. Together
with his father, he is planting garlic in a
small garden at front of his house. When one asks which is his favourite soccer
team, he shows little interest. He wants
to start a family here, something Spain has nothing to do with.
Spain, he says, is not his homeland
