Peace by transfer

Creating realities on the ground ought to be a euphemism for Israeli state policy of ethnic cleansing, writes Amy Mina*

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Last year, President George Bush declared Prime Minister Ariel Sharon "a man of peace". First hand experience in the occupied territories debases that myth of amity. Recently, in a mere five-hour tour of the West Bank, I counted more than 70 army jeeps on the roads, to say nothing of the checkpoints, the heavily armed soldiers, the endless depots of Israeli army paraphernalia. Nonetheless, what I saw and heard led me to believe that peace can be, and is being, achieved. It is Peace with a capital "p". It is a simple, yet seldom stated, plan: Peace by ethnically cleansing the land of Palestinians.

Here's how it is working on the ground right now:

Take the wall. The Israelis call it the "security fence", claiming that it is being built to prevent suicide bombers from entering Israel proper. I went to see how the wall is protecting the security of Israel in Qalqilia. Qalqilia is the western-most town in the West Bank. From the town to the Mediterranean is a mere 15 kilometres. On a clear day you can see the sea from the city. Indeed, Qalqilia is further west than many Israeli towns. It is a town of 43,000 inhabitants: an agricultural market town where, once, both Israelis and Arabs came to shop and where unemployment rates were low. Whereas agriculture accounts for 24 per cent of West Bank GDP, in Qalqilia, it accounted for 63 per cent -- before the wall. Qalqilia was the breadbasket not only of the West Bank, but of many of the surrounding Israeli towns and villages also. The big white houses with their sweeping verandas and red tiled roofs tell the story of the wealth of Qalqilia. Well-maintained palm lined streets speak of the pride of the town. Even more importantly, Qalqilia provides, or rather provided, 55 per cent of the West Bank's water. That's a huge proportion anywhere, but in a land where water is as precious as gold, it's a jewel. It is a prize to be grabbed. And it was.

The wall at Qalqilia has not been built to protect the Israelis from the suicide bombers. If it were, it would have been built on the town's western side only separating the town from Israel. The line of the wall and its shape tell a very different story, for the wall has been built as a huge oval encircling the entire town, keeping all its agricultural land and water resources on the wall's outside while imprisoning its inhabitants inside.

On the town's western side, the wall stands eight metres tall, a solid wall of concrete with cameras at 10-20 metre intervals and watch towers in grey and black registering every movement. It is protected -- if such a behemoth needs protection -- by barbed wire followed by a 10-metre deep trench. This concrete monstrosity curves for three kilometres before it gives way to electrified interlocking wire fencing of near equal height. The wire fencing stretches around the town's northern and southern perimeters, or rather within the town's northern and southern perimeters, coming together in a tight neck at the eastern entrance to the town. On the way in, via the eastern gate, an army encampment is strategically positioned for ease of entry to the town at any time. When I entered it was unmanned. Not so on my way out. Young soldiers stood with M16s cocked and aimed at every car and individual. Entry and exit determined by teenagers. 43,000 people are trapped in one of the world's largest outdoor prisons -- a prison that can be, and often is, sealed off completely.

In the concrete wall, there are no gates to the lush agricultural land beyond. On the northern side, the single gate built has never been opened since 22 October 2003 when the wall was completed. A second gate, in the southern part of the fence, is opened most days three times, for 15 minutes in each time, depending on the whim of Israeli soldiers. This, the only gate from the town to the fields that were appropriated by Israel in its drive for peace and security, is the only gateway for children from neighbouring villages to access their schools, for the sick to reach hospitals, for farmers to reach their land, for villagers to get their shopping. When children finish school at 12pm they wait until 2pm, or thereabouts, come rain, hail, snow or burning sun, until soldiers open the gate. If the soldiers decide not to open it, as often happens, or if they decide to wait, the children (six, seven, eight and older) wait. Would parents continue to send their children to school under these uncertain, insecure, intimidating circumstances? Are Palestinian children immune to the trauma of adult-authored atrocities like this? All indicators since the start of the Intifada show that Israel is deliberately and systematically targeting Palestinian education, one of the strengths of Palestinian society and its hope for the future. The wall at Qalqilia is another weapon in that deliberate attack -- one seldom seen or recognised outside Palestine.

The wall around Qalqilia was not built on the 1967 border between Qalqilia and Israel proper. It was not even built around the natural boundary of Qalqilia. It was strategically built within its perimeter so as to ensure that town land -- its source of sustenance and employment -- and its water remain outside. What's more, the project is not yet complete. A "buffer zone" is planned within the wall, eating up more of the strangled town.

One further point about the "security" wall at Qalqilia: though the "suicide bombings" did not start until 2001, the wall and its route have been taking form on the ground around Qalqilia since 1997 when Israel built a ring road around the town and "leased" some of the town's land for a five year period, assuring farmers they would get their land back upon lease expiry. Curiously, as the leases expired, so the wall was erected, along the exact route of the ring road, enabling, because the ground had been previously cleared, very rapid construction. Three full years before the start of the Intifada, Israel was already planning, on the ground, the theft of Qalqilia: further indication of the real reason behind the wall.

I drove to the wall and, with guards watching from within their blacked-out towers, I walked to the fence side. Just two metres beyond, lay the wasteland of greenhouses and farmlands now abandoned and rotting with plastic sheeting flapping in the wind. A gate remains for ease of army entry. Nothing else. I stood on the concrete remains of the shops and market-square that used to boom in times when Israelis and Arabs came to shop in Qalqilia. I drove back past the endless rows of closed shops, past the few open shops with their desolate owners, past the boarded up large white villas with the red tile roofs, the disfigured palm trees which are, against the odds, now returning to life, unlike the residents of Qalqilia for whom life is now an impossibility.

And so, the question is, how does this wall, which rings Qalqilia on all sides, protect Israel? If Israel is to the west of Qalqilia, why is the wall to the west, north, south and east? The answer is simple: the purpose of the wall is not security but ethnic cleansing. The wall is built to isolate Qalqilia entirely so that eventually its residents will have no other choice but to leave. With 80 per cent unemployment, and 80 per cent of families living on food handouts, those who could have closed up shop and moved. Sharon has already stated that 15,000 Palestinians in Qalqilia is more than enough.

There is a second reason why the wall rings the town on all sides: it protects the illegal settlements that ring Qalqilia on the north, south and east. Settlers are the second front of ethnic cleansing, and they are all over the West Bank. This was my first time visiting the north of Palestine. I hadn't quite imagined the extent of settlement throughout the West Bank. Forget anything you read about withdrawing from settlements. Just forget it outright. I stood on one single spot and took photographs of seven settlements on seven hills in the area. I could not take pictures of every settlement, every beginning of a settlement, every outpost and caravan site, throughout the West Bank. I'd have needed five rolls of film for that, and no doubt they could not have conveyed the magnitude of what is happening.

The interior of the West Bank is the most fantastically lush range of hills terraced in transfixing white stones and bordered by what must have been a forest of olive trees. I say must have been, for what I saw were the remains after the settlers had cleared ancient olive trees for their fruit farms. Everywhere I drove on the "settler only" roads was already land appropriated or land in the process of appropriation.

Here's how settlement works: the army declares the hilltop a military area and commandeers it. There is no argument. Who can oppose it? Settlers then set up a caravan or two, always on the hilltops. Next, building begins. Within weeks, rows of neat white houses, which look more like postmodern fortresses, appear in the mist overhead. Palestinians traditionally live lower down in the valleys, closer to their olive and fruit trees. But with a settlement above, and for the security of the settlers, a number of things begin happening. The army closes off the village. Every single Palestinian village I passed -- every single one, from Jerusalem to Nablus to Qalqilia -- was fully barricaded with stones and huge rocks and rubble so that there can be no vehicular movement in or out. Whatever alternative exit routes the villagers prepare are soon blocked off. Needless to say, some villages have already been vacated. Here's another path to peace by ethnic cleansing.

Then the settlers, most of whom are armed, frequently fire on the Palestinians below. Palestinian homes, which are often close to the road, are targets of army takeover. Families are evicted without compensation and their homes appropriated. The "road", after all, needs to be made secure for the settlers who, alone, are allowed to travel on it. I saw at least four homes taken over by the army.

Meanwhile, the beauty of the surrounding land is overwhelming. The hills, the light; a depth of green set against an azure sky, bird life, the colours of spring -- all beckon. If you enjoy hiking, this part of Palestine could be a haven. If you were not a settler, however, you would be risking your life on these hills. It's a bizarre feeling driving through a land and knowing you cannot reach it; that it is totally closed to you -- already and completely appropriated. The progress of the wall marks the erasure of olive groves; natural life replaced with cement. When it is complete, it will encircle every Palestinian town in the same way it has now imprisoned Qalqilia. And by then, the villagers who lived throughout the land will have been pushed into prison towns for the sake of the security of illegal settlers.

As I drove through the butchered magnificence of Palestine, I was filled with memories of the men and women and children of Qalqilia. I asked all those I met about solutions, about resistance. Their desperation was palpable. I stood in awe of people's fortitude; their ability to withstand, stay and live amid daily humiliations, without work, without hope. But I also wondered how long this could go on. I wondered what depth of indifference or ignorance prevents us from seeing what is happening for the slow genocide it is. What weight of indolence keeps us from acting to put an end to the tragedy before our very eyes?

* The author The writer is a development professional based in Amman.