When we arrived at the checkpoint, there were dozens of Palestinians sitting and standing on the sidewalk, along with 5 or 6 large busses waiting to take them to their construction jobs. These Palestinians are already experiencing some level of "privilege" over others, as they possess work permits that allow them to cross the checkpoint for work. These work permits, while opening some opportunities that many other Palestinians are denied, are not cheap. Not only do they cost a lot of money, they are very difficult to obtain, must be regularly applied for, and can be unilaterally cancelled by both the Israeli government (because of a violated curfew which are randomly imposed or being entered onto the blacklist, which can and does happen for myriad reasons that Israeli considers to be suspect or threatening activity, for example having any association at all with a supporter of Hamas) or by and employer who wants to cancel a work contract. In these instances of cancelled permits, the Palestinian employee arrives at the checkpoint like any other day, only to have their permit taken from them, being unable to enter Jerusalem, missing a days work, and often being unable to acquire the last pay check that they are owed from their employer. This is one more in a long list of small things that take power out of Palestinian hands and makes them vulnerable and dependent on Israeli "mercy," a term used by Claire Anastas, who I will talk about shortly.
The checkpoint process is painful to see and think about. I have a hard enough time getting up early enough and getting to work without having any logistical barriers to overcome other than waiting for the bus. Palestinians working in Jerusalem but living on the other side of the wall have to line up with thousands of other people, hours before the work day begins, to ensure they get through the gate early enough to catch the bus, lest they miss their day of work and wages. Even if they arrive early, there are a number of factors that may prevent them from catching the bus: the Israeli border police may arbitrarily decide to lock the gate (without any warning, often resulting in a humiliating moment of a person walking into a locked gate and banging their head on the metal bar); overcrowding and long lines; being interrogated, investigated or denied; and probably many other reasons. They have to show their valid IDs, their valid work permits, and they have to have their finger prints scanned. They are not allowed to bring much across, so often the workers have simply a plastic bag with some pita bread for lunch. The majority have no bag at all in their hands.
After visiting the checkpoint, we walked to a house a few blocks away called the Anastas House. I posted the link to their website below, and I encourage you to look at it. It is heartbreaking, inspiring, and presents a dramatic example of the randomness and absurdity of the separation wall. Maria had called ahead to her friend Claire Anastas, who operates the souvenir shop and guest house, and so breakfast was waiting for us. Claire sat with us, pulled out her computer, and began to explain the situation in Bethlehem, as well as the situation of her family. She eventually just began telling us stories about her family's life in this house. It used to be in a thriving location with successful businesses during the day, and a popular nightlife location after dark. At some point between the mid-1980s and early-2000s (I couldn't follow the timeline accurately) Claire's family and house ended up being right in the middle of the conflict between Palestinian militants and the Israeli army. In fact, the army moved in and occupied her house, living on the top floor while her family lived in the floors below. It stayed like this for five years. She told stories of her kids suffering from stress and fear, of not being able to go on her roof without being shot at, at being terrified to answer a knock at the door because it might be a soldier with a gun pointed at her. She said that she can't even count the number of times she has had an Israeli gun held to her head.
These weren't even the worst stories that she shared. This woman embodied resilience. She was so strong, so committed to her family, to God, and to her life and right to exist as a Palestinian. Her story is common here, a story of a thriving economic and social life that was literally pulled out from beneath her by the occupation, and in particular, by the wall. She is now bankrupt, doing all she can to make ends meet for her family, as well as the worse-off in her community. She said she is currently stuck in bureaucratic limbo waiting to get papers to stay in her house. She worries that she may not be able to obtain these papers, and will be forced out.
Oh, I guess I didn't mention that her house and business is surrounded by the separation wall on three sides. It was going to be walled in on all sides, but the Israeli military showed her "mercy." It's like her own little private fortress, gently cutting her off from, well, everything around her. The all was built that way because it separates her, a Palestinian, from Rachel's Tomb, a religious and historical site that now sits on the "Israeli" side of the wall. The wall would have been built literally touching the walls of her house, if not for a plumbing line that ran under the road. That has left the Anastas family room for, at least, a basketball hoop for the kids between their house and their personal 25 foot concrete cage. Such is the absurd and divisive nature of the wall.
The interaction gave me the personal stories of a conflict that I have been learning about, until thois point, in largely theoretical terms. Standing outside of Claire's house, surrounded by a massive concrete barrier on all sides, I felt the occupation in personal terms, the way I am sure Claire and many others feel it.
Here is the Anastas' house information: http://friendsofbethlehem.org/?p=70
More about the EAPPI: http://eappi.org/en
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