Living Under the Occupation

             

 It's very difficult to describe what the realities of an occupation are. They exist in the most minute daily interactions, and yet their collective weight will warp the strongest back. This is the first part of my attempt to explain (especially to myself) how a dispossessed people live and survive.

            The drive to Beit Omar is uneventful. The asphalt is smooth, as it should be. Brand new and paid for by the state of Israel. We pass by only several cars, as expected. After all, few people this deep in the Palestinian West Bank are allowed to travel on a road marked, “Jews Only.” Of course, the fact that I am not Jewish doesn’t matter. Rather, it’s a camouflaged sign—unmasked, it would read, “No Arabs Allowed.”

            On the outskirts of the village I have to finish my trip on foot. Supposedly, I am entering Area A—a tiny patch of land perhaps 10 square kilometers in size, one of a handful of places where Palestinians should technically have full sovereignty over their property.

            Immediately, an Israeli military watchtower dominates the landscape and the sky simultaneously. Its grey, foreboding exterior (made more serious by the row of tinted windows on top that resemble a pair of sunglasses) is broken up by four splashes of white, black, green, and red paint: the Palestinian national colors.  An unearthly hum comes from deep within. This is probably one of the only air-conditioned structures in the village.

            Just behind me on the paved road, a truck blocks an Israeli Defense Force Humvee from speeding past it, trapping the vehicle behind its caustic exhaust. Everyone laughs as the soldiers honk angrily to no avail. Some shabab holler at the bogged down Humvee. A small victory for the Palestinians.

            From now on only dirt roads exist. Even though the last car drove by twenty minutes ago, the air is still as thick and heavy as cigarette smoke. A lone man is hosing off the road. Perhaps this is what he does with his life. Unemployment hovers around 60 to 80 percent in the idyllic village of Beit Omar. Or, as the Israeli civil authorities prefer to spell it, Beit Ummar. It is not enough for them to have expropriated much of the community’s olive groves, generously donating them to Jewish settlers (who live for free thanks to the Democratic Jewel of the Middle East). No, the Israelis must also control how the name is transliterated.

Everything and everyone must be dominated, coerced. At night teenagers from the nearby Jewish settlement sneak around and cover the English and Arabic writing on signs, leaving only the Hebrew unscathed. Their message is clear: God gave the land to the Jews. And until the signs are cleaned, the villagers must suffer the additional humiliation of having to read in the language of their oppressors. No. In this place, a simple redistribution of bountiful land is never enough.

            Back to the man with the hose. His “job” is a relatively new one. Until several months ago, Beit Omar had more paved roads—dilapidated, but paved nonetheless. Then someone had a reasonable idea of improving the roads.

            Work began. The Israeli civil authorities watched as plans were made. They watched as equipment was shipped. The soldiers in the watchtower observed tractors and road-breaking equipment being unloaded. A UAV took photographs from far above as meter by meter was carefully demolished. Then it photographed the men who tilled the dirt and collected any shards of the former road. Every move was carefully observed and obsessively documented. The Israelis had plenty of time. They were diligent and methodical in their actions. They always are.

When the new asphalt arrived, the Israelis quietly and courteously halted the construction, citing some obscure ordinance that prevents Palestinians from improving their own land. There was no time for argument. In a matter of minutes they killed the road.

            Now, as the residents of Beit Omar walk in the dirt and choke on copious amounts of dust, they have the additional pleasure of knowing it was their own hands which ripped each chunk of precious asphalt from the ground.

            The Israeli military machine will stop at nothing. It knows no decency. Only the purity of Jewish blood.

Does Wikileaks matter?

Sill-shot from Collateral Damage video

            Now that some of the fervor over the latest Wikileaks releases has subsided, many of us are left questioning where the organization stands in the political sphere. At times anarchistic, at times liberal-minded or even libertarian, Wikileaks and its ‘publicist’ Julian Assange are often inconsistent. Judging from recent developments, however, what has really happened is that the organization shifted from a semi-anarchistic dogma and melded itself into existing liberal politicking. What is interesting to note is the disparity between how the organization views itself and its actual place on the political spectrum.

            To begin with, the actual leaking of documents (or the principle of leaking files—the most damning cables have been redacted at the behest of the Obama administration) was a direct attack on our society’s power structures. At least, it appears that way.

What Mr. Assange fails to realize is that power is not concentrated in a few figureheads at the top, latched onto our society like a Frankenstein-sized behemoth. Rather, power permeates throughout our lives. Wikileaks learned this lesson in the form of service terminations by MasterCard, Visa, Amazon, PayPal, Apple, etc. After all, how many of us carry those logos in our pockets?

Wikileaks’ naïveté is also evidenced by its method of publication: instead of freely releasing the files, it chose to work with five major corporate media conglomerates, failing to recognize that, among others, The New York Times, The Guardian, and Der Spiegel are deeply rooted within the existing power structures that Wikileaks seeks to disrupt.

It seems as if Wikileaks has a very traditional conception of power—as an evil conspiracy mainly located in the high echelons of government—and seeks to challenge that power through pathways that appear independent of such influences.

At least, that’s the story that Wikileaks itself tells. The actual files, however, give an entirely different reading. It is important to realize that the vast majority of leaked files give no new perspective on America. They simply confirm what alternative news sources have been insisting for decades, and name some of the actors who are obsessed with day-to-day maintenance of Empire’s dominance and their actions: direct collusion with corporations; tit-for-tat diplomatic spats; spying on the UN; secret meetings with world leaders.

Wikileaks itself doesn’t understand how to use its information effectively. Julian Assange is treating the leaked diplomatic cables as if they are evidence of a few power-hungry schemers. This misconception is nothing new. Human rights organizations already fruitlessly attempt to work within the system, through legal or political measures, missing that the problems arise from corporatism and the entire philosophy of American exceptionalism. Empire has proven that it will either adapt to or quash any existential threat immediately, as long as it flows through prearranged channels.

However, there is something incredibly radical about releasing this information, even in its currently limited form. Now, power knows that we know that it knows that we know its dirty little secrets. Like a couple with persistent infidelities, once everything is out in the open it’s hard to keep on living a lie.

In fact, by publishing the Wikileaks exposés, The New York Times is quietly tapping on its own death knell. Democracy Now! and other nonstandard news sources have been writing about these topics for years. We can no longer trust that corporate monoliths such as The New York Times and its European counterparts will dig incisively for valuable news rather than filler. The real value in the Cablegate leaks is that they disregard entirely those avenues that we usually turn to in challenging Empire and its cohorts. They also serve to show us, unsurprisingly, just how inherent power is in our societal structure.

This is why Cablegate gives us such hope: one of the disadvantages of mass is that momentum is a killer. It takes time to shift directions. The recent Wikileaks scandals have echoed around the world. For a second, power lost its footing. This is remarkable. As citizens we can move faster and, with the political space opened up by the leaks and events surrounding them, mobilize effectively against tyranny.

Recent events in Tunisia are directly linked to this. After 23 years in power, President Ben Ali was forced to step down after protests erupted throughout the country. The cause? Diplomatic cables, which confirmed that the U.S. supports Tunisia’s ruling family, were likely the spark to land on the tinder.

Revisiting a Dark Recess

I just met a soldier who was in the IDF over the summer. He served in Hebron and Beit Ummar, places I frequented. I walked past a few times in an effort to remember where I knew that face. The olive drab Hebrew insignia on his shirt gave it away.

I’m struggling to remember him. Sifting through countless photographs, perusing my memories. But it’s so difficult to remember. The easiest way to tell soldiers apart was their guns. Some carried an M16, others wielded an M4 carbine. Some had double magazines taped together; optic sights; underbelly grenade launchers. Almost all had that self-assured sly smirk.

Of course my memory doesn’t work very well. I mostly remember a mass of soldiers, blurred together. The stench of sweat-stained clothes and helmets. Rough hands on my body. An occasional punch to the kidneys.

What I do remember, unmistakably, is the uncontrollable rage that I felt every day, every hour, every second, living in the West Bank. Not being treated as a person, not ever. The occupation isn’t just a few soldiers on patrol. It manifests itself in every aspect of one’s life. Signs dictating which roads are for Jews only; checkpoints that can be avoided by walking a few miles around (clearly the route a suicide bomber would take—only the weak and infirm are forced to wait endlessly for their documents to be scrutinized at a kiosk); the fear when a settler or soldier passes by; HAVING NO WEIGHT, NO HUMANITY AT ALL.

Just a few months ago that person had all the power. With a simple point of his finger he could have my passport taken, have me beaten, or have my friends dragged away, never to be seen again. Or he could do it himself. He could shift his M16 to his hip, shove me to the ground, and stuff his boot on my neck. I was helpless, but that’s nothing compared to the power he had over other Palestinians. He could pull out a pistol and execute some grocery worker in broad daylight without even a reprimand from Tel Aviv. I’m glad I finally left that fucking hellhole, but my Palestinian brothers and sisters can never leave.

Now that soldier and I are equals. We attend the same university. He can’t treat any student like that, not even if he or she is Palestinian. I’ve been dreaming about what this would be like for weeks. Standing there, my entire body was just frozen with fury.

My memory’s pretty shaky, but I’m pretty sure I was in Palestine. I’m pretty sure what I remember witnessing really did happen. But standing there was so surreal. Meeting the torturer in different circumstances. Maybe now I have the power. The liberty to speak out without getting a fist in the gut.

Anyway, we got to talking and soon enough the real issues came up. I asked him how he felt about beating up kids and old ladies (which I witnessed his squad doing). The response: ‘I was just doing my job. Look, I’m not really into politics. All that’s a part of my past life.’

Is murder and torture something you can really walk away from and not look back?