Shave Shomron, Beit Iba Sunday 11.05.06 PM Observers: Alix W., Aliya S., Susan L. (reporting) Summary Lord of the Flies, written over fifty years ago by William Golding, may be a beautiful fable, as some have termed it, but the overall and most important theme is that the shape of a society, and its internal conditions, are dependent on the moral integrity and ethical nature of the individual. Today’s shift in the Occupied Territories, so far removed, yet so close in spirit to the fictional island which is the setting of Lord of the Flies, symbolize isolation and serve as a perfect backdrop for the frailties of human nature which eventually surface both on the island and in the harsh reality of the West Bank. True, viewed in the overall Israeli-Palestinian conflict, Golding’s so-called “littluns” — the boys (soldiers) who don’t play a large role in the novel (or in the global perspective of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict) – do not always comprehend what is going on around them, yet the “littluns” are important people. According to Golding they are the “rest of society” and often go with the flow, doing what the “bigguns” (politicians, generals, etc.) do. The novel depicts a slow and inescapable descent into anarchy and evil. “Things are breaking up. I don’t understand why. We began well; we were happy. And then — then people started getting frightened”: a perfect backdrop for the frailties of human nature which eventually surface. Today, we saw that panic as well as decay are in the soul and mind of the soldiers in the Occupied Territories (boys on the island), leading them to the natural chaos or near anarchy of a society without reasoning adults. On the way to Beit IbaAs they promised last week, we see that an olive covered hillside, on the north side of Route 57 below Shave Shomron, is being gouged out for yet another “security” road. There’s a shoveldozer working (as at Enav) and a huge truck standing near by. No doubt, to be continued…. 15:20 Shavei ShomronThe familiar two archaeological minibuses, with wheelbarrows lined on their roofs, filled with workers returning home, seem to be driving off as we arrive (but we make a mental note that they’re an hour later than usual, and we had assumed, based on the fictions told us in past weeks, that nobody could cross at this checkpoint, nobody at all — even if they lived in the nearby villages of Sebastiya and Nisf Jubeil). One of the drivers tell us that they’ve already waited thirty minutes here; they weren’t held up at checkpoints but got off work late today. Their IDs were already checked and returned, but as they are about to drive off, the soldier tells them to stop – again! The lone soldier, high up on his tower, calls to us that, of course, he can’t assess the IDs (implying somebody else must do this). He makes not a move to do anything about it. We plant ourselves in his line of vision, in the welcoming shade of the looming concrete wall (at last, finally there’s a point to it). The standoff – he in his high up position, the minibuses brought to a continuing standstill and we in the welcoming shade – is disturbed by a Hummer descending from on high to pick up supplies, food and drink, from the settlement base. A commotion ensues as place has to be made in the crammed space of the Hummer. The soldier stands aloof and aloft, the two minibuses still in place. We now make phone calls in full sight of the soldier, he peers from his perch, trying to overhear, as we make our way to the minibuses, still talking. More commotion as a group of soldiers now stand and wait for another vehicle, this time a safari to whisk them off – somewhere. At the same time, another Hummer arrives, and in all this commotion at this usually lifeless checkpoint, a second lieutenant is seen approaching one minibus, peering in, going to the second one, doing the same, one of the archeological workers walks swiftly up to the plastic barricades blocking the roadway, moves them aside, and the two minibuses are on their way. In Deir Sharaf, the stock has been replenished in the minimarket, although things are obviously far from good. 16:00 Beit IbaThe line of vehicles stretches beyond the Huwwash Bros. workshop: 34 of them. We see a jeep stopped in the roadway, soldiers, who should have been checking vehicles, standing and talking to others inside. We’re greeted by a soldier telling us we’re not Israelis, “you wouldn’t be standing here if you were,” then that the army is short of manpower, hence the long line. Both facts untrue! This soldier and his mate was one of the least hard-working we’ve encountered. We nicknamed him the “saunterer,” since he spent most of our shift sauntering back, slowly, to the main checking post, to swig from a bottle of water (could have been one, surely, at the vehicle checking post) or swaggering back to the endless line of vehicles trying to get out of Nablus, telling them to move back. From where to where, no matter, just to move back for no reason, using the usual hand signs and waves and shouts and preventing checking that needed to take place. In other words the game of “Simon Says”: do this, do that… Or, another game — “Ten Little Indians.” The “saunterer” takes out all the men from a large passing Tanib bus, has the older men return to the bus. Next, at random, chooses the IDs of a couple of the remaining young men, saunters back to the main checking post, chats a few minutes with the soldiers there, lounges around, drinks some water, then saunters back. This frequent “sauntering” back and forth gives us the opportunity to note that his cell phone, stuck on the back of his belt, was encased with a flag – a Palestinian flag! And he asked us if we’d bought a house yet in Nablus….From drivers we learned that they were two hours in line, trying to pass from Nablus; in the other direction, merely half that time. There are six soldiers at most times during our shift at the main checking post, four at the vehicle post, at least when they are not “sauntering.” At the main checking post, to begin with the irrelevant, there’s a new red handwritten sign, “No Smoke” and next to it another new sign, blue, also handwritten: “Thank you to the army from the women in blue and white.” A young woman is in the lock up, three men in the detention compound and a staff sergeant — in command neither of the situation nor of his men. The military policemen, working inside the checkpost often come out, to sneer at us, to make remarks, and to talk back to the sergeant, as other soldiers also do, including the “saunterer.” On the other hand, when he goes over to the main checking post, just once, the vehicles begin, for a while, to move, one every one to one and a half minutes. Inside the detention compound, are three men who’ve been found “trying to escape” the checkpoint, by going around it. They are now being “punished,” a term used casually by both the commander of the checkpoint and the Humanitarian Center. Both agree that “four hours” is not too much for detention. How else to “punish” them? Punishment, evidently, is now meted out by the army, having nothing to do with the old adage, “security.” On the other hand, a not very fashionable lady’s handbag lies by the commander, at the edge of the compound where he and a soldier, often pointing guns, stand. Inside the handbag, which contains little of what a woman’s handbag usually contains, is a kitchen knife. The owner is the young woman locked up. She has told the soldiers that being arrested was her only way out… that life isn’t worth living. She has been inside the lockup for hours. “The police still haven’t come.” It’s clear that this has been going on for hours. A young man comes from the Beit Iba direction, bearing several plastic bags with food and drink for the detainees, some of whom try to give food also to the young woman. “No way,” call the military policemen. “Is that food for us?” More seriously, they maintain that “She can only get our food…. she tried to stab us” — a great non sequitur. But one detainee hands her a bottle of drink nevertheless as the sun beats down on the metal door. The soldiers tell us that she has water. Three soldiers watch (yes, three) as one of us goes over to the lock up. We learn that the young woman’s name is Yafa (“beautiful”), and she is. Tall, calm, pleasant, but there’s a language barrier. She only knows Arabic. On being asked questions, one soldier puts his fingers to his lips. The other smirks. They are both rude, do little work, as the pedestrians, many with young children or babies, wait patiently in line, or are confronted by a soldier pointing his gun as they walk through the humanitarian line. 16:40 — a blue police jeep arrives. To the soldiers’ credit, they lead Yafa to it, without handcuffing her. We see how tall and slim she is, wearing flared jeans beneath her black robe. Yafa, together with the incriminating handbag, is put in the back of the jeep, where a policewoman with gun is sitting. For the next hour and ten minutes, until 17:50, Yafa is inside, one policeman pacing up and down, talking on the phone, and after almost an hour, probably the Arabic speaking policeman, gets into the back of the jeep, leaving the door open, and clipboard in hand, interrogates her. At the end of all this, she is led out of the jeep, and the now visibly angry policeman, who’s told the soldiers, none of whom are working hard, and most of whom have more than a prurient interest in what is going on, “I don’t have to tell you anything…. now, what do I do with her, where do I put her?” He’s ready to put her in the detention compound, but she is led back to the lock up, and the handbag goes back to the commander’s area. Next? The commander is not sure. “The police” he says, meaning the army, but perhaps the General Security Service: the procedure is far from clear. Why were the civilian police called in the first place. Who knows? Or cares? 16:50 — two doctors, a nephrologist and his companion, a cardiologist, are trying to get to their clinic in Tulkarm, from whence they came this morning, via Beit Iba. The commander, Y., has told them they have to go via Huwwara. They’ve already been in line for two hours (not surprising seeing the way the soldiers are not working properly, or maybe “to rule”), as the doctor explains in English, to the commander who insists on speaking poor Arabic: but a short conversation with the staff sergeant reveals that he’s basically decent, principled, and finding it difficult to do both his perceived duty and be humane. The long and short of it is that the doctors are allowed to go on their way. 18:00 — one of the detainees in the compound, one with a large truck waiting at the side of the road, is now let go, his ID is returned, he asks for his mobile phone, also returned. But there are still other detainees being “punished.” And one soldier, inside the checking post, calls us over to ask what we think of the whole episode with the young woman: a thinker? Somebody disturbed about what’s going on? But the dilemmas for the commander – making judgments, decisions, remain. The bottom line is that he does not garner respect from the soldiers there, and the soldiers today are of the breed that is described so well in “Lord of the Flies” where there’s a slow and inescapable descent into anarchy and evil. And this, in addition to the army (the majority in our country), singling out another group of people to look down upon in order to feel secure. 18:05 — our proof: as we say good bye to the vehicle checking soldiers, the “saunterer” summarily dismisses us – with a flick of the wrist! Jit Junction rolling checkpoint18:20 — the horrendous line at Jit Junction, which we’ve been forewarned about by the taxi drivers at Beit Iba, consist of but nine vehicles at this time, and they pass quickly through the checkpost. Qalqiliya18:40 — we’re treated to the new, almost finished “border crossing” at Qalqiliya, noting that the settler cars speed by in the “authorized vehicle” lane, while we make do with the “Israeli private car lane.”