ISRAEL / PALESTINE PRINT PDF : IMC Print

Supporting the Palestinians

by Alex Klaushofer

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Palestinians have few methods of opposing Ariel Sharon's oppressive regime: Israel isn't responding to democratic initiatives, and uses any Palestinian violent insurgence to justify further repression. Alex Klaushofer shows how Western activists can help by engaging in political activities that Palestinians are unable to do without retribution
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An hour before she's due to lie down in front of an Israeli tank, Jo Jaffray admits: "I'm not allowing myself to think about it. But I'm terrified underneath."

In the event, Jaffray -- one of the Women in Black participating in the first event of two weeks' direct action in the West Bank last December -- found the staged "die in" before the tanks outside Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat's Ramallah headquarters a tranquil experience. "I felt very relaxed," she said. "We all held onto one another, by hand or leg. I was weeping, lying there, thinking 'we've got to do this'."

The planning meeting the day before had decided that the mainly middle-aged members of Women in Black would be in the front line, to show the military the demonstration was peaceful. Around 10 members of Women in Black had joined a group of 60 people, mainly from Britain and the USA, under the banner of the International Solidarity Movement.

Two days' training prepared the group on how to deal with tear gas, sound bombs and arrest, and confront angry soldiers and settlers. The group was divided into smaller cells, for ease of decision making and support. That Women in Black is all-female, member Liz Khan felt, was key: "Violence is less likely to escalate both because of others' perceptions and the way women behave."

The aim was to stage non-violent protest against the Israeli occupation, showing Palestinians that the world had not forgotten them. The project was dangerous, but it was unlikely that the western citizens' lives would be at risk. This difference in status enabled the group to do things too dangerous for Palestinians. But it also often separated them from the people for whom they were working.

The effect of the groups' activities on both Israelis and Palestinians saw its first real test in the north of the West Bank. The cluster of villages south west of Nablus lie in the midst of Israeli settlements. Years of land and resource appropriation have produced deep resistance among the Palestinians, while the Israeli army is fiercely protective of the settlers. For the past year, most Palestinian villages have been closed, their entrances blocked by mounds of earth and stone ploughed up by Israeli bulldozers.

The plan was for the group to dismantle some of the roadblocks: a form of resistance established by Palestinians in the first intifada. It would be largely symbolic, as the army would quickly replace them. And there was a likelihood that the army would make life more difficult for the villagers as punishment for the internationals' activity, making it essential that all decisions were taken in close co-ordination with the local Palestinians. "If they're not in control of what we're doing, we're patronising do-gooders," said Liz Khan.

Torrential rain turned red clay to mud as the group's spades removed the first roadblock, at Haris. Soldiers turned up after 12 minutes, and an anxious young officer, waving a document in Hebrew, declared the area a "closed military zone" -- a strategy the army frequently uses. Over the next hour more soldiers turned up, along with the police -- the only ones with the power of arrest.

It soon became clear the authorities were undecided on what to do. "We don't want to use violence, but we will if we have to," declared the chief police officer initially. But while the group's negotiators kept the military talking, the roadblock was slowly being cleared.

A crowd of Palestinians gathered to watch from a safe distance. Yaseen Ali Agle, whose nearby house had recently been fired on by Israeli forces, resulting in a narrow escape for his 11-year-old daughter, said: "We love you very much because you help us." He was acutely aware of the soldiers' different attitudes to the foreigners: "Look at the soldiers now. They don't attack us. When you go, they will attack."

The soldiers became chatty. One, seeing my press card, wanted to know if I had heard of the atrocities by the Palestinian side. "Why don't you come here for us?" he asked, sounding genuinely injured.

Only a special unit officer, clad in riot gear, was aggressive. "The Palestinians are fucking animals!" he shouted. He slapped his colleague on the back, announcing with pride, "He killed terrorists a week ago!" "Where?" I asked. "Emmanuel," he replied, referring to the settlement where a Hamas raid on a bus killed 10 Israelis.

After an army bulldozer arrived and dug a new roadblock, the group decided to remove the second barrier, too. For a while, tear gas seemed inevitable and those who had decided they were "non-arrestable" moved away. Then, inexplicably, the mood lifted. The soldiers started to smile and, as the labourers cheered a departing boulder, a festive spirit prevailed.

But later the military flexed its muscles, penalising the group's Palestinian coach driver for alleged parking offences. Soldiers entered the village of Marda, where the group was staying with local families, firing into the air and declaring over a megaphone: "This is a closed military area. Stay in your homes."

Resident Nasfat Khuffash was unfazed. "This is a closed military zone anyway. What difference?" And after the roadblock was rebuilt later that day, the mayor of Haris, Hassam Daod, said: "It's extremely helpful for morale. People were ready to die. When they saw you coming, it lifted their spirits."

In the days that followed, the group's activities elicited a range of reactions from the Israeli military. On a demonstration to escort Palestinians through the Bethlehem checkpoint to Jerusalem, soldiers came close to using non-violent tactics themselves, linking arms to prevent passage. But when the group tried to enter Gaza, trouble erupted. Having granted entry visas, the officers guarding the Erez border changed their minds, claiming there was a "security issue". When the group tried to cross, a scuffle ensued. The senior officer lost his temper, repeatedly throwing women to the ground and threatening to shoot the entire group and "smash skulls in". By then decision making was becoming harder.

The constantly changing situation involved evaluating actions for their level of risk, likely effectiveness and effects on local Palestinians, often at short notice and with partial information. A split between those wanting greater and lesser levels of direct action emerged, to be contained by a lengthy consensus-seeking decision making process.

Throughout it all hung the question of what this really meant for Palestinians. While the group was frequently thanked for its support by watching Palestinians, a visit to the bereaved family of a man killed by Israeli forces highlighted the limits of solidarity. While some family members accepted the traditional condolences, his sister's grief erupted. "What can you do? You can do nothing,"she cried.

But, on a social visit to Palestinian friends a few days later, I stumbled into an illustration of the difference foreign civilians can make to an army conscious of its image in the wider world. At the exit of Fawwar, a refugee camp south of Hebron, the military were refusing to allow anyone to leave, the residents said, because earlier a child had thrown a stone at a settler bus. "You go and talk to the soldiers," they urged me. The soldiers appeared intractable. "The children threw stones; people are injured," said one. "We have to check some things. You can't leave either."

Discouraged, I returned to the crowd. But almost immediately the soldiers parted, and a stream of people, the children running ahead, hurried out of the camp. As the tank retreated, a passing Palestinian man shouted, "Thank you very much".

Back in the camp, the locals were unimpressed with the soldiers' reasoning. "I think they were lying when they said people were injured," said one. "Yes, the children throw stones," said another. "But they occupy the land."

Alex Klaushofer is a London-based journalist who writes on politics and social affairs.