Beit Iba

Beit Iba, Sunday 24.06.07, pm Observers: Hanna K., Susan L. (reporting) Guest: James M. Summary The mercury was in the high 30s, so one could well entitle this shift, “In the Heat of the Day,” although that novel dealt with the tense and dangerous atmosphere of London during the bombing raids of World War II and not the edgy and harmful ambiance that permeates the Occupied Palestinian Territories, day in, day out. On the way from Qalquilya: 13:50 Azzun Once again, we stop here, at the infamous concrete boulders enclosing the town. Again, there are people waiting for taxis to take them out of the town, others returning home. This time, we’re told why the boulders are back (after a hiatus of almost a year). “The army told us kids were throwing stones on the road” (Route 55, the local apartheid road). Since the boulders allow grown ups to pass through comfortably from one side to the other, what good are they in preventing kids from getting through? If anything, such a concrete blockade is likely to increase a youth’s desire to do something like throwing stones! But who’s to believe the army’s stories anyway? As usual, all we can accept as true are the facts on the ground. 14:00 Jit Junction Not a Hummer or a soldier in sight: a checkpoint waiting to be born – but probably only later. 14:15-15:00 Beit Iba The temperature has soared into the high 30s, and there are few people and not much traffic around. Maybe the temperature has affected the mess created at the pedestrian checking area today. There are people, it is true, waiting behind the turnstiles, and there are women at one, men at the other. There are also impatient people trying to go through a humanitarian line, which they soon find out, for their pains, is non existent. “Go through the checkpoint” shout the soldiers, who sometimes begin to pursue would be passers with gun pointed at them. Most of the time, however, the soldiers budge not an inch from where they stand at the central checking area. Here a telenovella seems to be in the making. One of the two military police spends her time coming out of the checking booth, once to f permit, the other times to chat up the commander, Lieutenant 0., who seems either immune to the fact that he’s supposed to be in command of the three soldiers and two military police working with him, or smitten with the flirtatious and shameful behavior of one of the military police women. At one point, she calls from the checking booth, to ask him questions, which he is loathe to answer, at another she comes out of the booth and “shares” his communication equipment and speaks into it. The three soldiers seem aware of what is going on, and take up the load from O. who, throughout our shift hardly moves from his position at the central checking area and speaks hardly at all. One soldier, who rarely stands at the bag checking table, does all the work of checking bags, of ordering people, to “stand back,” move,” etc. Another, who hardly glances at the IDs proffered to him from people wanting to go into Nablus, seemingly proud of his ability to speak in English, tells us “There’s lots of pressure today.” Other than the oppressive heat, there is no pressure, the lines are not endless at the turnstiles, and there’s no reason for the stress that is entirely engineered by the occupying force. As for the effectiveness of the checkpoint in facilitating passage of the Palestinians, that’s sacrificed to the advance of a personal relationship between two soldiers. And this is a professional army! As for the Palestinians, waiting, waiting patiently behind the bars of the turnstiles, the soldiers, the commander and the military police woman behave without embarrassment, as if they aren’t there, and if they are, what do they care! Meanwhile, the young boy, a summer fixture at the checkpoint, wanders freely back and forth, from one side of the checkpoint to the other, his tray held high, like a professional waiter, this week holding yellow iced drinks for sale. As we leave, people tell us that they’ve waited in line at least thirty minutes, and that it’s a shame the humanitarian line was not open in this heat when there were old women, children and a man who’d just gone through a serious operation. The vehicle checking area has functioned during the time we’ve been at the pedestrian checking area, not many vehicles out of Nablus, hardly any into the city. A government vehicle, bearing red and white plates, is turned back to Nablus, but only after one military police woman and then two other soldiers have studied a variety of papers and IDs all in slow motion, perhaps an effect of the heat.