The Persian Abyss: A day in a Palestinian protest

I've spent a week in Israel so far. I've seen most corners of Tel Aviv, eaten excellent food, enjoyed the Mediterranean beach, and gone on a tour of Northern Israel. I am now itching to go and see the other side.

A college friend is making a documentary in the West Bank. "Do you want to go to a Palestinian protest?" she asks. Without thinking twice, I say yes. We plan to meet Friday morning at the Damascus Gate of Jerusalem's Old City.

After saying goodbye to my dear Israeli friends, the bars on Allenby street, and the jellyfish in the Mediterranean, I hop on a bus to Jerusalem. My friend and I take a taxi to Kalandia, the main checkpoint between Jerusalem and Ramallah.

We form a line along with Palestinians to pass through the barbed wire, dirt barriers, random concrete structures, half-built walls and fences to make it to "the other side." All the while, we are scrutinized by the IDF conscripts, who look barely eighteen.

The hustlers have created an informal economy on the other side of the checkpoint. You can find pots, pants, cement, bricks, flowers, falafel, birds... we try to ignore the misery around us and march on to the taxi station.

A short while later, we arrive at Bil'in. A small farming village in the West Bank, Bil'in has been a site of weekly protests against the Separation Wall which Israelis call the security fence. More than half of Bil'in's land was declared state land and was transferred, overnight, to the possession of the Israeli government, for "security reasons."

In reality, the land was expropriated for the building of a new settlement.

The villagers have been fighting to get their land back, and several Israeli and international activists have joined their cause.

The Friday prayers finished and the locals slowly trickled out to the main square. A crowed of 200-300 people gathered, and we started walking towards the Wall. Halfway between the main square and the Wall, we are met by IDF soldiers, who inform us we aren't allowed to go any further.

Several of the villagers go to negotiate with the IDF commander. The locals know all the commanders, and many of the soldiers. Some of the commanders let villagers go all the way to the wall for their weekly protest. Today's commander, however, is inflexible. Barbed wire marks a line on the road. That is as far as we are allowed to go today.

We form several columns facing the soldiers. The Israeli activists go to the front of the protest and start repeating on their loudspeakers: "There are Israelis here. Don't shoot." One of them explains to me that if the IDF knows there are Israeli citizens among the protesters, they don't use live ammunition.

The face-off continued for several minutes. All the while, the IDF and the protesters shout back and forth. I gather the IDF is warning the protesters to disperse and the protesters yell various slogans back.

There was a huge truck beside the soldiers. Without warning, a very loud and continuous noise came out of the truck, and chaos broke out.

Tear gas and rubber bullets came our way, and we ran for cover. We managed to hide behind a nearby building. Gas canisters landed a few feet away from us, and the villagers handed out onions wrapped in wet towels. I was unsure if this was a good defense, I stuck an onion in my face anyway.

Several Palestinian youths, between 10-15 years old, took cover behind a little hill and hurled stones at the soldiers. The stones they throw are heavy, and using their slingshots they can throw them very far. I was astonished by the way they had "perfected their game." The soldiers must have been 300-400 meters away at that point, but the stones almost surely reached them.

If there was a stone-throwing competition in the Olympics, the Palestinians would surely win. 

The more experienced protesters warned us to stay back. Two weeks earlier, one of the soldiers made the mistake of taking his helmet off. One of the stones had hit him in the eye and blinded him.

The crowd kept on charging every 15 minutes or so, only to be met with more gas canisters and rubber bullets. This only incited the kids to intensify their stone-throwing.

There were a dozen people from various news organizations filming and taking pictures. The most absurd-looking one was the Reuters cameraman, who was dressed head to toe in various gear. He was the only one equipped with a gas mask. He looked like a man from another plant.

Every time the protesters fled, the IDF put down barbed wire on the road near the imaginary line. Not surprisingly, the Palestinians are experts at cutting and moving the wires.

After a couple of hours of playing cat-and-mouse, the soldiers decide to withdraw to their base. The path to the wall is now open and I prepare myself for the triumphant march to it. To my amazement, the Palestinians are, all of a sudden, uninterested in further protests. It is as if without the IDF as opponents, they have lost their will to fight. It is now time for the afternoon nap.

A slingshot was thrown on top of one of the wires to mark the end of the protest. Save for a few kids who switched from throwing stones to playing soccer, the village went to sleep. Along with a few Israeli activists, we retreated to the cool backyard of the village elder for some homegrown food.

We were notified that under no condition would we be allowed to leave the town without first attending the wedding that was starting in a few hours.

The host's son, who I was told was paralyzed by the IDF during Operation Defensive Shield in 2002, greeted us from his wheelchair. We went to his tiny room, huddled around his small TV, and watched the absurd events of the Bil'in protest replayed on Al-Jazeera.

In memory of Bassam Ibrahim Abu Rahmah (Al Pheel) killed in a Bil'in protest on 17/04/2009.