Street Politics In The West Bank

By Christopher J Lee

On June 5, I witnessed a protest against Israel’s “separation” wall in the West Bank. This non-violent demonstration was organised by Stop the Wall to mark Naksa Day, an annual commemoration of Palestinian displacement after the 1967 Six Day war. Stop the Wall is a grassroots organisation that campaigns to end the new form of Israeli apartheid that has taken hold with the construction of the purported security barrier - reaching up to 8 metres and hundreds of kilometres long.

The mid-day confrontation did not remain non-violent for long. As hundreds of marchers from Ramallah, the seat of the Palestinian Authority (PA), gathered near the traffic circle in front of the Qalandia checkpoint, Israeli police and military wasted no time before firing tear gas into the crowd. This speed of response was frightening. A sense of apprehension informed the day: a few weeks before, the protests of Nakba Day on May 15 had resulted in at least 15 Palestinian dead along the Syrian border. No one knew how far the police and soldiers of the Israeli Defence Force (IDF) were willing to go to disperse the demonstrators.

After the immediate, unwarranted reaction, the push back was for the most part restrained. In contrast to views of Israel’s security being under constant threat, the military units present appeared wholly confident, even blasé, about the situation. Within an hour, the soldiers had secured the roof of a building, from where they could fire tear gas on the crowd with little fear of reprisal.

At this point, the situation evolved into political street theatre. With the IDF unit firmly ensconced in its rooftop position, a handful of young Palestinian men approached from the street to launch stones with homemade slingshots. Taking turns, they taunted the soldiers on the roof with their nimble skills and youthful courage. And when they looked too confident, the IDF fired another volley of tear gas, with Red Crescent ambulances at the ready to help those who had inhaled too much. An eclectic group of photojournalists were in position at the bottom of the building, equipped with gas masks and body armour, ready to capture this iconic image.

But beyond their lenses, the traffic on the other side of the road rumbled on as usual. Qalandia is one of the main checkpoints between Ramallah and Jerusalem, and the stretch of road from Ramallah to Qalandia is one of the busiest in the West Bank. As the protest shut down two of its four lanes, a column of slow-moving traffic—taxis, buses, commercial trucks, private vehicles— formed in the remaining two. Picture this: on one side of the street, a tense political confrontation between the IDF and several hundred protestors; on the other, daily West Bank traffic, barely stymied by the protest. Those Palestinian drivers and their passengers simply wanted to get to where they were going and carry on with their daily lives, and rolled up their car windows whenever another round of tear gas was fired.

I do not mean to undermine Stop the Wall’s protest and its political significance, or to suggest the IDF did not represent a physical threat. A more violent situation could have transpired. Yet the contrasting dynamics of the afternoon offer a more complete picture than the stereotypes of teenage Palestinian boys throwing stones and burning tires which the photojournalists were attempting to capture. It depicts a more complex set of politics among Palestinians than either western journalists or the Israeli government portray.

After several weeks in the West Bank, what became clear to me was the active financial investment in Ramallah, as well as neighbouring cities such as Nablus and Bethlehem. Residential high-rise buildings, university campuses and commercial neighbourhoods in these urban areas all pointed to economic development. This growth reflects the aspirations of many Palestinians to prosperous jobs and social stability amid the endless political negotiations between Israel and the PA. Though these discussions are crucial for the future of the region, they make little daily impression on Palestinian families and communities who have more immediate needs to be met.

It is important to recognise the two sets of politics present at Qalandia that day. The concerns of the drivers and passengers are no less political than the demonstrators directly involved on the other side of the street. In fact, to neglect the politics of everyday life—securing work, food, transportation, housing, education and other daily needs—in the Occupied Territories is to ignore the common vulnerabilities and struggles shared by all Palestinians during, and between, days of political commemoration. The wall symbolises the physical limitations placed on Palestinian communities by the Israeli government, but it does not tell of the strategies and resilience that Palestinians have employed to overcome such measures, to progress socially and economically.

As the time for the possible declaration of Palestinian statehood by September approaches, we should keep this dichotomy in mind, in order to understand the meaning of, and debate over, this option among Palestinians. It is not an either/or choice. The connections between grassroots mobilisation and the politics of everyday life in the West Bank must be addressed to grasp the complexity of popular politics, and what is at stake for whom and when. We must take both stories into account. We must look at both sides of the street.

-This commentary was published in Le Monde Diplomatique on 30/07/2011
-Christopher J Lee is a professor of history at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. He was recently a faculty fellow of the Palestinian American Research Center, an affiliate of the Council of American Overseas Research Centers