Yesterday was the 70th anniversary of the Nakba: the ‘great catastrophe’ when over 700,000 Palestinians fled their homes. Over half the population were displaced: forced into refugee camps in Gaza, the West Bank, Jordan, Syria and Lebanon. Few have returned. The UN has since passed Resolution 194 calling on Israel to permit Palestinians the right to return. Yet tented refugee camps have now become permanent suburbs of towns, today inhabited by the families of those who fled in the 1947-49 war.
Nothing has changed.
Social media feeds today are full of pictures of the massacre that took place on Monday, including those now coming through of violence against Palestinians on the West Bank. Commentators have questioned how could this happen. Strong, polarised opinions, have been expressed by those on all sides of the ‘debate’. It is absolutely right that media outlets are reporting on the horrors that are unfolding this week and that the world sits up and pays attention. By ignoring the problems created by our governments we all become in some way complicit in what is going on.
But I recognise that for many people Palestine just hasn’t isn’t on their radar and that there is a risk that they have seen it, and now will see it, through an incredibly polarised lens. Day to day experiences of life in Palestine are little reported. I wonder whether, if we understood more of the daily narrative of life for Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza, this context may stir us to act more not less?
A friend posted a beautiful response to a facebook comment today, urging the commentator to visit Palestine and see for themselves the situation and the beauty of the people who live there before they passed judgement. She is right. So today I’m writing about the people we met on our journey (read: the boring tourist story bit!).
So I began by thinking about what adjective I’d pick to describe the country. There’s tons of options and I’m no literary expert. I’d love to know which one my fellow riders would use. After the news this week ‘helpless’ might seem appropriate. But I always come back to ‘beautiful’. Palestine is not an easy ‘beautiful’. It’s not an obvious choice when you ride along roads strewn with rubbish (no refuse collections in some areas, little infrastructure in others), littered with plastic debris (environment guardianship is so much easier in countries with relative peace and prosperity) and through villages where half the houses are only part completed (Palestinians save for years to build one floor of a house, then the second and so on…most barely make it beyond the first floor) and some are completely demolished ( a tactic used by the IDF to harass families into leaving their homes and villages). It’s definitely not a good word to describe a land ensnared by barbed wire fences, checkpoints and a concrete Occupation Wall that entraps and divides communities.
But look beyond that and the country is stunningly beautiful. Sweeping hill sides, olive groves, ancient pines, deserts, a ‘Dead’ sea, villages perched on the top of hills and cities precariously built sloping down the hills into the valleys below. More historic sites and holy relics than a pilgrim could visit in a year and a stunning climate to boot. More importantly, the Palestinians I met had beautiful souls. They were warm, welcoming and open to our band of merry cyclists.
What we witnessed through the stories we heard and the people we met were many and varied acts of ‘beautiful resistance’ – non-violent, creative and focused on rebuilding communities and providing opportunities for hope and growth.
Riding a bike gives you a deep connection with the land through which you travel. Like walking a dog or pushing a pram, riding a bike in Palestine is the perfect conversation ice breaker. I am not exaggerating when I say that cycling is a totally undeveloped sport in Palestine. It’s not just the lack of strava segments (there aren’t many and those we created we ‘own’!) or the absence of clear route maps (google earth hasn’t quite reached the furthest corners of the Holy Land yet). It was the dawning reality that we were a total novelty for most. Whoops and cheers of ‘welcome, welcome’ were shouted from children on balconies, men and women in cars beeped their horns at us and people on the streets and shops that lined them came out to say ‘hello’. Our distinctive pink jerseys (chosen to reflect the pink of the Giro) made us impossible to miss and the addition of two female riders drew much surprise and hilarity.
“Come, come, into the freezer” offered some local butchers as they saw us, one by one, stopping with exhaustion at the top of a particularly steep climb in the heat of the early afternoon sun. We tottered through the slippery butcher’s shop, past hanging carcasses desperate to enjoy a brief moment of frozen bliss.
“Mechanic, I mechanic” whispered an elderly man who stopped his car half way up another steep hill (steep hills… they feature hugely in our journey) to help me as I tried to un-wedge my chain which had fallen off and become wedged in the big ring.
Watermelons were thrust in our hands by vendors at the top of a road junction. The melons were displayed comically on a large black leather sofa which had pride of place amongst a cornucopia of bric-a-brac which included a fetching 1980’s stationary bike. Chris jumped on for photos whilst the rest of us enjoyed the sweet taste of the melon slices.
A gentleman tentatively approached us outside the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem. He told us he was a cyclist and had spotted us in our pink jerseys as we cycled the narrow streets of the souk and out into the expanse of Manger Square. He wanted to share with us his concerns about the Giro and our apparent support for it. He was beyond delighted (and somewhat relieved) when we told him ours was a ride of solidarity and protest against the Giro, not in support of it!
In Hebron a car swerved in front of us and a smartly dressed salesman jumped out, announcing he was the coach of the Palestinian cycle team. We asked directions to a coffee shop and he led us to one of his favourites, where he proceeded to tell us about his efforts to create and coach a cycling team (or group?!) in the West Bank. He shared stories of riding mountain bikes in the hills, where Palestinians and Israelis enjoy relative peace away from the heavily patrolled roads. He spoke of road rides that crossed checkpoints where soldiers were unable to distinguish them from Irsaeli riders in the lycra uniform of the road cyclist. He told of his dreams to coach the Palestine team and provide more robust training programmes and better kit (bikes have to be built in Palestine as the cost importing brand bikes via Israel is just too high). Some of the team had already forged links with cycling groups in France and other countries and a small group had joined a Tour of Brittany the previous year. He told us that his group of male riders was growing and he even had one or two females in the ‘team’ – bravely challenging traditional female perspectives in the largely Muslim country.
Cycling: a form of beautiful resistance and a tool to unite and bring people together.
Interwoven with our cycling adventures were the stories of the people we met through the projects Amos Trust supports. We rode north to Jenin to visit the Freedom Theatre (www.thefreedomtheatre.org). The theatre grew out of a project set up by Arna Mer Khamis, (a Jewish revolutionary who chose to live and work among Palestinians) to use theatre and art to address the chronic fear, depression and trauma experienced by the children living in the Jenin Refugee Camp. The theatre, in its original form as The Stone Theatre, was destroyed by Israeli tanks when they invaded the camp in 2002 but has been rebuilt and re-imagined as the Freedom Theatre. Today it hosts theatre groups, coaches children and stages productions showcasing local and international talent. The walls of the building are adorned by colour paintings – the most poignant ‘resistance through art’. Outside in the streets of the camp it was impossible not to notice the bullet holes that danced across the walls of every building we passed.
We rode south to the Hebron Hills to visit the Sumud Freedom Camp at At Tuwani and meet Havez, their Community Leader. Sat on the floor of the open community building, eating a delicious lunch that appeared from nowhere, we listened as Havez spoke passionately about his vision for the future of his homeland and his community. At-Tuwani sits at the gateway to the South Hebron hills and the villages beyond which are home to ancient Bedouin communities. These communities have been dwindling as people leave in the face of increasing encroachment from settlers. The most ideological of the settlers have chosen the holy sites of Hebron and the surrounding hills as their chosen home despite the fact that land is Palestinian. Settlers move in with a few tents, the IDF move in to ‘protect’ them, infrastructure is build to support ‘security’ and suddenly you have a whole settler town watching over you. The Bedouin communities still live in caves, tents and simple dwellings in marked contrast the barbed wire and sophistication of the military apparatus that guards the settlers. Havez is determined to move beyond violent protest and establish a community stronghold that can support Palestinians to return to their homes in the area and provide education, infrastructure and jobs to enable them to thrive once again. As the gateway village At Tuwani is the key to creating permance. If At Tuwani is broken then there is no hope for the villages beyond. So he showed us the Freedom Camp, the restored cave dwellings, the village well that had been rebuilt and the new shower and toilet area with running water. Simple projects but all created without the aid of machinery or modern tools – they simply aren’t available to Havez and the families and young students who work with him.
We met two Italian missionaries, living in the Sumud Camp on a three month mission to provide ‘protection’ to the children who attend the school and tend the sheep on the fields and hills. Some of the settlers are so violent to the children as they walk to school that the IDF have had to provide protection escorts to the Palestinian youngsters. However they continue the pattern of harassment, often turning up late so the children miss lessons. The Italians simply walk with the children to and from school each day and then stay with them as they go into the fields. They’re basically acting as a Human Shield. A ‘missionary shield’ to stop soldiers and settlers attacking because let’s face it – even the IDF is smart enough to know that images of Italian missionaries being attacked whilst walking with children would not make good media.
We stayed in the wonderful Al Rowwad Guesthouse, part of the Alrowwad Theatre project that Amos has supported for a number of years (www.alrowwad.org). Al Rowwad is based in Aida Refugee Camp in Bethlehem and provides a centre for art, theatre and photography – a place for those living in the camp to find expression and gain education through the arts. The new guesthouse project provides income through the accommodation and includes workshop space and a cookery school. This was my third visit to Al Rowwad and the camp and as I’m writing these reflections I realise that I’ve stolen the phrase beautiful resistance from them!
Looking once again at their website I’ve seen the quote from their mission statement. A quote that has stuck with me since my first trip to Aida five years ago:
“beautiful resistance against the ugliness of occupation and violence”.
I remember now why I think the word ‘beautiful’ sums up Palestine so neatly.
Giro Della Palestina: Palestine by Bike! 