When Will the Caged Bird Fly?

Yesterday was Bethlehem. Along with Ramallah, it was probably one of the most contrasting and provocative experiences of my trip. (And now my blog title "Slouching through Bethlehem" has literal, as well as figurative meaning.)

Waiting at the checkpoints in the hot, hot sun; watching Israeli soldiers treat Arabs with disdain; listening to yet another story of “the Israelis turned the water off today, and yesterday, and the day before...” – it was hard not to empathize with the Palestinians, even if I knew too that the 1948 refugees are partially victims of their own despair.

What do I mean? Well, the first refugee camp I visited was Qalandia, on the outskirts of Ramallah. Our guide, Ahmad Naf’e, was a native of the area and knew the camps and their denizens well. He told us – later to be reinforced by other anecdotes and personal encounters – that the residents of Palestinian refugee camps (to be differentiated from the Lebanese camps, which are a different story) actually choose to stay there. I repeat, they CHOOSE to stay in the camps despite the fact that there are other places, nicer, cleaner, more hopeful places, for them to live.

Now, to someone outside the Palestinian worldview, this self-imposed imprisonment seems counterintuitive. Why would anyone choose to live in a refugee camp? To understand this, one must first understand the level of helplessness and victimization Palestinians feel – and in many cases, rightfully so. Violent protests are ruthlessly cut down by Israeli forces, while nonviolent protests (marches, demonstrations, campaigns) are ignored. The most powerful expression of Palestinian nationalism and pride is their presence. They have come to understand that their mere presence is a thorn in the side of Israel. Since Israel remains unalterably opposed to the “right of return,” and at the same time seemingly opposed to a “two-state solution,” what else remains for displaced Palestinians to do but to stay exactly where they are, in their camps, as a form of silent and terrible (for them) protest against Israeli occupation?

This is the rationale. This is the reason tens of thousands of Palestinians live in unlocked prisons, gated but freely accessible to the rest of society, ringed with barbed wire in a silent scream against injustice. You drove us from our homes! they shout without words. You took away our land. You killed our families. You treat us like criminals. You deny our claims to this homeland which is ours just as much as it is yours (or, in their eyes, more so). But this demand for absolute justice, this refusal to move on – all this comes at great cost. I feel that their claims might be more reasonable, their idea of justice modified, if the Israelis and the rest of the world really and truly heard their story. Heard it and legitimized it, not treated it (as they have thus far) with token regard.

To go to the camps is to visit a world of tangible but unutterable strangulation. The scream which goes unvoiced is unheard but not unfelt. Indeed, it is omnipresent. In Bethlehem yesterday, I went to the home of Paula’s host family, who live in the Assa refugee camp. The home itself was not small, dirty and cramped as I had envisioned. It was a bit dirty yes, but this is the Middle East – Israel’s dirty, everything’s dirty. The house was in fact quite large, with adequate living space for four people (though a bit cramped for six – the two additions being our summer interns). Symbols of the conflict were everywhere. On one wall was a map showing Palestine, but no Israel. Other photographs showed a grandmother who had been killed at an Israeli checkpoint and Islamic holy places in Jerusalem. The young woman of the house had never been to Israel, except when she was very young. Outside the home, Israel’s “security wall” is a constant reminder of oppression, wending its way around the camp’s outskirts, a stone’s throw (forgive the analogy) from schools and families. You can almost feel the air being sucked out of its surroundings. Everything becomes heavy in the presence of the wall, ominous, devoid of energy, purpose, vitality. The graffiti art is the only thing that hints at humanization, at humor and the irrepressible urge to speak truth to power. And then there are children. The children, thank God, are still wonderfully intense.

Paula works with an organization that attempts to raise awareness of refugee life and Palestinian culture, as well as giving Palestinian children a positive outlet and diversion from the conflict. It is located in the Aida refugee camp. She showed us around the building, which houses classrooms, a small library, kitchen, a larger auditorium, an audio-visual room with computers (where Palestinians are using the medium of film to document their lives and impressions), and several offices. In the auditorium, a large group of children was standing is a circle. One little boy was leading them in a very energetic rendition of all the different noises animals make. Truly, he was the most dynamic presence in the place and he can’t have been older than nine or ten. Tweet tweet tweet! Peep peep peep! Coo coo coo! Moo moo moooooooo! And all the children echoed him.

In addition to the camps, Paula told us about the tensions between Christians and Muslims in Bethlehem – how the Muslims feel themselves to be on better terms with the Christians than the Christians feel about their relations with the Muslims. The difference between the Arab shouk (marketplace) and Christian quarter was also stark. The streets of the Christian quarter could hardly have been cleaner or quieter, the buildings pristine. The Muslim streets, in contrast, were filthy, noisy and crowded, filled with vendors and oncoming cars. Paula said that generally the Christians are better off than their Muslim neighbors, although ironically (for a city historically associated with Christ) they are now a minority of the population.

When I typed “Christians in Bethlehem” into the Google search box, a Jerusalem Post article from 2007 popped up: “A number of Christian families have finally decided to break their silence and talk openly about what they describe as Muslim persecution of the Christian minority in this city.” In 2006, the BBC reported: “The little town of Bethlehem is perhaps more associated with Christianity than any other place in the world. But now there are fears that soon it could be home to hardly any Christians at all” due to increased security hassles and the Israeli wall. Nearly every search result was some variation of “Christian minority fleeing persecution” in Bethlehem. When I reversed the search, typing “Muslims in Bethlehem,” I got a similar picture. Results proclaimed “Muslims persecuting Bethlehem’s Christians.” But everything dates back to 2005 or 2006, so I wonder what a more current analysis would find.

Until yesterday, I had been planning to visit internships in Nazareth, but now I’m feeling the need to spend one more day in the West Bank before I go home. Maybe I’ll go back to Ramallah...