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Al-Ibrahimi
Mosque, Hebron |
The
level of unemployment in the Occupied Palestinian Territories
“makes a fertile breeding ground for extremism and violence”
(ILO director-general). As the UN
International Labour Organization (ILO) meets for a 15-day
conference, the facts and figures of their latest report echo the
empty cash registers and economic suffocation felt across the West
Bank and Gaza.
Despite
slight growth in 2004, the Palestinian economy is bleak:
unemployment at 26 percent, with less than half of the men of
working age and only 10 percent of women employed. While the more
violent faces of occupation occasionally make the news, the
purposeful erosion of Palestinian livelihoods continues unabated,
matched in pace by the Wall, snaking its way through the West Bank.
There
can be no doubt that the fracturing of life is an intended side
effect of Israeli occupation. The labyrinth of check points and
barriers restricts movement, but the rules are applied arbitrarily;
there is often an alternative route for the determined willing to
risk it, making a mockery of any “security” claims. But for many
legitimate businesses, uncertainty and random restrictions have
proved too much.
Before
the second Intifada, tourism was a valuable part of the economy;
there are few other places that can boast such an abundance of
religious history. However, it takes a determined tourist to make it
into the West Bank these days, as I found out when I took a short
holiday in Hebron.
The
fracturing of life is an intended side effect of Israeli
occupation. |
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Hebron’s
central site of interest is the Al-Ibrahimi Mosque, built on a cave
thought to contain the four-thousand-year-old tomb of Abraham and
his wife Sarah. The site is holy to Muslims, Christians, and Jews
yet was the scene for the massacre of over 29 Muslim worshipers at
the hands of an Israeli military doctor. Barauch Goldstein’s
murderous killing spree was well documented and sparked widespread
riots. The town is now divided into Palestinian-controlled H1 and
Israeli-controlled H2, the confiscated area surrounding the site and
home to the religious settlers. The mosque itself is also divided.
The
young Israeli soldier at the entrance is actually quite chatty. Both
my name, Jonathan, and my friend Isabelle’s middle name, Debora,
are from the Old Testament; and he speculates we must be Jewish. As
we wait for whatever message has to be relayed back and forth before
we are permitted to go inside, he m
They
stay on, unsustainably, as the economic stranglehold of
the Palestinian economy tightens. |
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utters to us something about
“just doing his job.” The experience of checkpoints is still new
to me, but his words seem to hang in the air. I hope he realizes how
empty they sound.
Once
we’re in “our side,” I find the atmosphere strange. Our guide
is almost neurotic at the presence of some actual “tourists.” As
we are shown round the beautiful interior, his formulaic spiel is
overwhelming. There is too much history, both old and new, to take
in. He shows us the bullet marks made by Goldstein’s attack and
repeats the body count over and over like a mantra. Although I was
glad to see such a significant site first hand, I was also relieved
when we left.
Across
the road, at the other side of the metal detectors, there was a
cluster of gift shops. My eye was distracted by the concrete pill
box mounted on the roof of the middle building. Through the
camouflage netting I felt the presence of an Israeli soldier
watching us as we approached.
I
had only been in Palestine for a few days, but I’d already come to
appreciate the enormous hospitality given to any visitors. Nidal,
the owner of the gift shop, immediately furnished us with mint tea
and allowed us to sit before looking around. The shelves were filled
with pottery. At the back of the room someone was working clay on a
wheel, by the window another man was painting coffee cups with the
classic blue leaf designs.
Given
the historical significance of the mosque, this should have been a
thriving business. Nidal, who was the third generation of his family
to own the shop, told us that we were the first customers to set
foot inside for two weeks. I was expecting a hard-sell guilt trip,
but as we started to talk I soon felt completely at ease. Directly
across the road was his Jewish equivalent: the Gutnick Centre Hebron
café and gift shop. He told us how, under the watch of the
soldiers, the owners came and randomly smashed his stock. They also
prayed on the door step—an unnecessary display of power intended
to make him close down.
Nidal
re-opened the shop after Christmas, its five decades of heritage
coming to an end four years ago. He admitted that there was no
financial sense to the move, but he sees it as one small stand
against the devastation of Hebron and its current division. The
intricate pottery, hand painted, was once exported across the
Palestinian tourist track, the stylized craftsmanship being
instantly recognizable. Now he put the plates and teapots they
produced in the cupboard. He doubted they would ever be sold.
There
are now virtually no Palestinians living inside H2. Families have
been steadily driven out, leaving desolate streets surrounding the
five-hundred-odd settlers who have taken over. Military apparatus
litters the roadside, and Nidal has to wait a least an hour at the
checkpoint each day before he is allowed in to work in his empty
shop. There can be no legitimate reason for this humiliation, but I
have no doubt the magic word “security” would be given if an
explanation were ever sought.
The
stories in the neighboring shops are the same. There is no point to
their business anymore. They stay on, unsustainably, as the economic
stranglehold of the Palestinian economy tightens. We bought what we
could, but it could never be enough.
Half
of the population in the West Bank and Gaza are living
in poverty. |
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As
we re-entered H1, the narrow streets became more vibrant. Food
stalls and shops spilled out into the alleyways, but again, this was
more for show than for profit. Overhead, chicken wire was strung up
between the first floors of buildings. The netting supported a range
of litter, plastic bottles, and discarded food. It takes a few
moments to realize how it gets there: the settlers have confiscated
the first floors of the houses and used the Palestinian street below
as a rubbish bin. This subtle snapshot reinforces the current
political situation. The Israeli settlers act without regard for
humanity; the Palestinians construct an inadequate defense.
The
ILO fact-finding mission will have seen the situation in Hebron as I
did. Their report is clear: Half of the population in the West Bank
and Gaza are living in poverty. Every employed person has six
dependents, and the situation is deteriorating. To add to the
economic crisis, work inside Israel is becoming increasingly scarce.
The ILO highlights that under the current disengagement plan,
Palestinians could see employment across the green line completely
cut off. This will compound the already grave situation and goes
against the wishes of many Israeli employers.
But
economics can be used by both sides. While the practical effect of
boycotting Israeli goods is debatable, the political message is
clear. This must also be done hand in hand with a drive to support
Palestinian business, however small. Tourism is a key part of that,
enabling money to be spent where people need it most. The West Bank
might not be the easiest destination to get to, but you certainly
won’t be short of stories to tell on your return home. I know
where I’ll be going next year.
Sources:
*Jon
Wright is a radio journalist
and writer based near Manchester, United Kingdom.
