Mieka Brand Polanco
It is Sunday night, the 27th day of Ramadan. I am sitting in the village of Fasail in the West Bank, beside Tala,* a Bedouin woman, on the ledge of her home. Tomorrow they will demolish her home. The home where she lives with her husband and five children. The home that a kind friend gave the family eight years ago because they were living in a tent. The home that replaced the one that preceded it, which was demolished two days after Sahar, their youngest child, was born. Tala shows me photos of the last home that was demolished: metal siding, bedding, and fabrics in a big pile, with little Sahar nestled into a car seat beside the pile.
I have been part of a group doing protective presence at Tala ‘s home for several weeks. Israeli settlers, referred to as “Hilltop Youth” have been harassing the family daily for months. On January 15, settlers dumped a truckload of rotten dates in front of their home. The next day – and every day since – settlers have been bringing a herd of cows to pasture in front of Tala and Ahmed’s home. Ahmed knew better than to remove the mound of rotten dates despite the health hazard it was creating. He knew he would be accused of theft if he tried to remove them, so the family left them where they were dumped and learned to live with the swarms of flies and gnats, the fumes, and the indignation of a trash heap at the entrance to their home. Every day, settlers brought their cows to graze in front of Tala’s home. If Protectors called the police to report the settlers’ trespassing, the police would inform them there was nothing they could do. On the rare occasions they responded to a call and came to Tala’s home, it was to yell at and threaten the family and Protectors.
Last week, the family received an eviction notice, claiming that Tala ‘s home is infringing on state-owned pasture land. The notification explains that unless the family can prove within a week that they own the land, the house will be demolished.
Three days ago, in a seemingly unrelated incident, the police and military showed up at Tala and Ahmed’s home, looking for their 14- year old son, Mustafa. The security forces claimed Mustafa had thrown a stone at a young settler. They said they had video evidence, but refused to show it to them. They separated Mustafa from his parents to interrogate him. Soon after, they detained him and loaded him into their vehicle. The family and Protectors tried desperately to learn where he was being taken, but the soldiers’ reply was, “Follow us to find out.” They whisked Mustafa away while the settlers blocked the road so the Protectors couldn’t follow. Eventually the Protectors managed to track down the vehicle and, some hours later – after the military turned Mustafa over to the police and the police released him without charges – the Protectors were able to collect him and bring him home. On the way, Mustafa told them he had been beaten. Someone caught a photo of the settler laughing while Mustafa was being carried away.
Two days ago, a group of seven Hilltop Youth set up a campground about 100 meters from Tala’s home and have been camping there since. This is the third such campsite since February. The settlers camp for about a week, tend the cows and recreate at their campsite. At night, they play exceedingly loud music, drive around the house on an ATV, and flash high-power strobe lights at Tala’s house. Tonight the playlist is a mix of Jewish religious techno, Israeli pop, and Israeli Mizrahi soul music.
Tala and I are sitting on the ledge of her home and she writes to me, using an Arabic/Hebrew translator, that it has been a hard day. That the Eid festival is three days away but she hasn’t bought anything for the holiday. She is too distraught to shop, and in any case doesn’t know where she’ll be for the holiday. She thanks me for the trash bags I brought, which she will use to pack their clothes. She tells me she is worried about the children. What will they do when it rains, she wonders?
Ahmed sits nearby on a plastic chair, staring at his phone, which broke earlier today. Tariq, Ahmed’s friend and neighbor, is sitting beside him, puffing on a nargila, watching newsclips on his phone. Nearby, Mustafa is practicing wheelies and skids on his bicycle, while his older brother plays a video game.
Tonight we are three Protectors on shift. The other two are asleep in preparation for night guard. We will take turns staying up through the night, as we have every night, to make sure there are no attacks from the nearby settlers. Tonight we sit by a small campfire, drink tea, and give thanks for Leylat el Qadr, the 27th night of Ramadan. Tomorrow the house will be demolished.
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* Real names have been changed
Please consider supporting Unarmed Civilian Protection in Palestine (UCPIP) and Looking the Occupation in the Eye, two excellent organizations (one Palestinian, the other Israeli) that are doing protective presence work in Occupied West Bank.