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Manifestazioni |
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Di 06.03.12
20 h
Bern, Le Cap (Französische Kirche), Nicolas Manuel-Saal, Predigergasse 3
Marlène Schnieper Nakba – die offene Wunde
[piu ...]
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| Cry of the Olive Trees |
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By Dr. Sumaya Farhat-Naser, Birzeit |
I have seen the destruction of the landscape, and I feel the pain of the
injured and tortured olive trees, my heart is crying and mourning
together with my people!
For several weeks now, people from the neighboring 30 villages are
prevented from arriving by car to Birzeit. They smuggle themselves through the stony and thorny roads of the valleys. They talk about
things going on there reminiscent of the frightening deportation policies of 1948 and after. They are very scared and speak with fear about harassments, the burning of fields, and curfews, which prevent eye-witness reports. They say the whole area to the west of Birzeit is totally sealed off and has been declared a closed military zone. No one may use the main road to reach Birzeit or Ramallah. The people have to make their way down the hills and through the valleys, trying to connect to another road or small street before the next dead end of a destroyed or blocked road or the next checkpoint where soldiers prevent further movement. The way from Deir Ghassaneh or Abud
to Birzeit is normally a 10-15 minute ride. Today, the
students need 2-3 hours to reach Birzeit University, if they get there at all. Sick people risk death because they are prevented from using the normal roads to get medical aid. I have often seen sick and old people being carried long distances by men in an effort to reach the next junction, knowing that they will soon have to repeat the job. It is torture, it is dehumanizing, and it is a clear breach of human rights. In fact, it is much more: It is a systematic politics of making life so difficult that people will leave. It is killing people slowly but surely, perhaps as a more "civilized" way of killing. It is a crime.
Yesterday a friend visited me in Birzeit and I asked her to accompany me to the closed military zone with her international car. One kilometer later, we met the first checkpoint, where the soldiers seemed unfamiliar with such a car and foreign ID cards. But we passed, and I could not believe it. We stopped somewhere and I showed her our land and olive trees. Ths year, as with all the peasants, we were prevented from cultivating our land due to the closure, so the impression is left that we neglect our land, making it easier to confiscate. A car passed by and inspected us, but because we were women, they let us be. They were intelligence
officers. The street was totally quiet -- no cars or people were there -- but far along the road, we could see people walking and some cars trying to negotiate the stony, unpaved roads.
Thus we continued toward Um Safa Beit Rima, Deir Ghassaneh, or Ajul. It was not possible to enter because the streets were totally destroyed. We continued to Abud. As we passed the settlement Halamish, the soldiers at the entrance stopped and inspected us. Soon after, we saw along both sides of a two-kilometer stretch of road, gouged deep into the land, total destruction. Hundreds of olive trees had been uprooted and destroyed, the land scorched, and about 12 tanks and many soldiers working with military bulldozers to destroy and uproot the trees, destroy the land, and level the terraces. They had several military tents, and it looked as if they were preparing the site for major construction of a new military base or a new settlement. Some soldiers were irritated to see us at the site, others were astonished, and while some asked us to stop, others ordered us immediately to leave the place. We left, but under escort -- one military car drove in front and other behind until the next junction. We could not take photos or videofilm at the site, but we managed to take some photos on the way back.
For me it was an experience of deep pain, and my heart is breaking. The land around Birzeit is my landscape and my nature. I am 53 years old; I grew up together with these trees. I am a botanist and for 21 years I would take my Birzeit University students to that wonderful area, rich in floral composition, history, and culture. This is exactly where I taught my students love, commitment, and identification with the soil and nature. We took many scientific field trips together, walking to Um Safa Forest, the oldest forest in Palestine, just seven kilometers from Birzeit. There we identified and classified plants, retold the many different stories about each plant, the usefulness but also the jokes, myths, games, and blessings connected with the Flora of Palestine. I know the names and history of all these trees and bushes. Yesterday, when I went there, I was forced to break the military order, and I cried bitterly because for many months, my people and I are no longer allowed to reach our land and trees.
My heart beats quickly and more quickly as I approach the forest. A tank is there, heavily equipped with weapons to block the forest. I waved to my trees with my hands, called them by name, conveying to them my pain and love of the old trees just destroyed. With tears in my eyes, I think of the wonderful wrinkled surface of the wavy dancing tree trunks and the branches now sadly hanging. I smile to the trees that remain, encouraging them to survive. I will go back to them with my students and my children.
I am still in pain, and I am writing so that nobody will dare say:
I did not know.
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