Beit Iba, Sunday, 24.7.05, PM Observers: Alix W., Maayan G., Susan L. (reporting)In General Staff Regulations (pkudot matkal), there must be something about Rules of Engagement for the Occupation. Therein are surely found the Acts of Stupidity which are deemed enormously effective in controlling and putting down an occupied people. They are less visible and therefore less often seen as direct violations of human rights. They are less subject to criticism by pesky activists like MachsomWatch women. Today we had our fill of acts of stupidity. Their effect on us was as heinous as the cruelest and most humiliating of behaviors that we have witnessed. 14:15 Qalqiliya: three rows of 15-20 vehicles waiting to go through the checkpoint from the Occupied Territories, but no other rolling checkpoints at all today. A new sign, advertising brand new homes at the entrance to Maale Shomron (but Condoleezza Rice didn’t see as she stayed down south at Sycamore Ranch)! But we see them, still windowless houses with red tiled roofs staring blankly and boldly on to the apartheid road. At Sarra, the “old” checkpoint looks dead, but the tower above flies a brand new and clean Israeli flag; down below, at ground level, where we are, everything is dismantled, some of the concrete blocks where people stood in single file to be checked have gone. But there’s plenty of barbed wire which can be moved at will to open or close in the village. 14:30 Beit IbaThe vehicle line is short at this time. Two hours later, when we leave, there are vehicles all the way to Hawwash Brothers Carpentry. When we arrive, A., the DCO representative is, in fact, chatting to two of the Hawwash brothers as they leave the checkpoint to return to their work. A., as is his wont these days, is loafing, smoking and in no mood to exercise his problem-solving role. But we call him over, to leave his conversation with our friends the carpenters, when we find two young men at the checkpoint itself, carrying canisters of some kind of gas. It’s not Freon, says one soldier, and he can’t read the English that the Palestinian points out to him. “No permit, no pass” is his repeated cry in Hebrew to two non Hebrew speakers. A. wanders over, tells the young men something, then tells us, that he’s asked them to call their boss to get them a permit (within a short time — something we know cannot happen on this occupied piece of land)! Eventually, they leave, return whence they came. Only we notice that the two return an hour or so later, minus the canisters, but this time with a tool box, which is thoroughly checked, as indeed is everything today. All the plastic bags, and there’s evidently been a lot of shopping going on in Nablus today, are checked, boxes opened and people made to turn everything out. 15:00 Only one of three turnstiles is working. There is chaos. Women stand behind one turnstile, a soldier or military policeman calls either women or men to approach the checkpoint, but a short time later, women and men are put into one line, together (not exactly sensitive to the prevailing customs of the Palestinians). At our insistence, the humanitarian line is opened for the women, but they now have to stand in the blazing sun and in the strong, dusty wind. The turnstiles are all under a tin roof which is rendered useless today. At this time, there are only six vehicles trying to enter Nablus, three from Qusin, but from Nablus, the line is endless, one can’t see its end. Two soldiers man the junction checkpost for each direction of vehicles, working slowly, but working, asking us to take their photos, wanting to see them on the internet and saying that they’re “good boys.” It’s hard to tell who is the soldier in charge at the main pedestrian checkpoint, if, indeed, there is one. Y. seems to set the pace, wanders from one group of soldiers to another; there are a lots of them, all unknown to us, all, it seems to us, unknown to the task that is supposed to be theirs. A young German, passport in hand, is told he can’t enter Nablus, they’ve no idea how or where he can enter. He does, since he’s done it before, and realizes he’ll have to make his way to Huwwara. All the soldiers carry long strips of paper with nothing but numbers on them. Each person, man or woman, is checked against these dangling shards of paper. It’s slow and inefficient, soldiers standing about, unwilling to talk to us. 16:00 The soldiers at the main checkpost take from out of a well dressed man’s shopping bag a scarf and confiscate it, placing it among the drink bottles inside the checkpost. They tell him that it’s “inciteful.” We can’t see much, the soldiers refuse to answer our questions as to why, and the man is rightfully incensed. At this point, a second lieutenant, clearly not belonging to this unit, comes by. We hail him, and he says he’s not at the checkpoint (but he is), and he hears the scarf story, and goes to the Palestinian, speaking Arabic. A., the DCO representative, now returning from lunch, but on his way out, is also stopped and is also asked to get involved. A minute later, the offending scarf, a football scarf, checkered black and white with some red and green, is returned to its owner. The two officers leave, the soldiers at the checkpoint continue going about their business, continuing their refusal to engage in conversation with us. 16:30. The line of vehicles trying to get into Nablus is at least 25-30 vehicles long. Some try to overtake, chaos ensues, the dust flies and this endlessly troubling life goes on.