Reflections on Demonstrations

Maybe it is just my perception, but some people in this world seem to have it all together. They seem to know exactly what they want to do, what they believe, what they think. They are strong in their positions and nothing seems to rock the boat. I, however, feel like I am constantly standing on a rickety, old rope bridge between two cliffs. I find myself so open to learning about other people's stories and, if not agreeing with them, feeling that I at least understand their perspective. This attitude can sometimes make my life more difficult living in Israel/Palestine, or at least my thoughts on particular events seem like they are tumbling around in a clothes dryer, rather than firmly rooted in my brain.

A little less than one month ago, I went to a demonstration in Beit Jala, a town connected to Bethlehem to the West. The demonstration was protesting the Israeli governments' decision to reroute the wall to take in a large portion of land belonging to the town of Beit Jala. Since this decision, the army had already begun to uproot olive trees to prepare the way for the wall, some of these trees being hundreds of years old.

I have hard about demonstrations that are met quickly with violence from the Israeli forces. These demonstrations are non-violent, however, the army is given orders to squash the voices as quickly as possible, which results in orders to shoot stun grenades, tear gas, and eventually rubber bullets. On our way to this demonstration (I was with some speakers from Bethlehem Bible College's International Conference and friends from the Bible College), we found out that soldiers at already started to gather near the demonstration sight and that this might be one of those demonstrations met with violence such as stun grenades, tear gas, and rubber bullets. Ever since I have been in Israel/Palestine, I have wanted to attend on of the popular demonstrations usually met by this kind of violence, just to see it for myself. But I am usually held back by a sense of fear and not wanting to put myself in a dangerous situation. So suddenly, I am headed to a demonstration, with the potential for violence from the army, and I am not able to turn around now.

When we arrive, it takes about 15 minutes to gather all the people. Then as a group, with signs protesting the uprooting of trees and rerouting of the separation wall, we march forward towards the soldiers. I am in the back, not really wanting to face any danger. I don't really feel part of this demonstration, as much as I feel I want to be an observer. Half-way down the hill, the army begins to shoot stun grenades at the crowd. Keep in mind that when stun grenades are used in Israel against Israelis demonstrating, it is illegal for the army to shoot them directly into the crowd. They must shoot them away from the crowd. But here, in the West Bank, they shoot them directly at the crowd. I immediately turn around and run back up the hill, realizing I am not cut out to be a brave, peace activist. The sound that emanates from these stun grenades is like none that I have ever heard. I was told later that stun grenades are designed to send a shock through your body, not only with their sound, but with their vibrating impact to the ground. Literally, I feel stunned. I get the sudden urge just to sit down and cry to release all the energy that has just been sent through my body.

Now you may think that my thoughts after this incident would be one's of anger and an even firmer disgust for the Israeli army. But instead, I find myself swinging on that rope bridge again.

The stun grenades were shot with no actions of violence on the part of the demonstrators part, before they were even close to the Israeli soldiers. they are a pre-eminent attempt to crush any voice of opposition. I am not angry, but I wonder why? "Why is this type of violence necessary? Why is the Israeli government so afraid of opposition that they order their soldiers to use violence against non-violent crowds?" But I look at these soldiers, and remember that, within the past few months, I have become good friends with Israelis that have been soldiers. It is easy to blame soldiers for conforming to their society and entering the army because they think they have too. It is especially easy for those of us from the US, who have never lived in a situation like this, never faced mandatory army service, to become all high and mighty in our judgment of these soldiers. After the shooting of the stun grenades, the crowd continued to march and approached the soldiers directly. There was no more violence from either side. There were some speeches and some chanting.

A particular group of mostly Americans, sat down, arms linked and began to chant to the soldiers, "Don't be machines, think for yourself." To me that statement, fails to see the soldiers as human. It fails to see this conflict in a nuanced way, with many different perspectives and a long history, that has now created many complexities. It fails to see the system in which Israelis have grown up. I am reminded of what a friend told me she hard at a Breaking the Silence lecture recently. Breaking the Silence is an organization of Israeli soldiers that formerly served time in the West Bank. They tell stories of what they did as soldiers. They are trying to speak out against a culture that largely tries to cover up what is going on in the Occupied Palestinian Territories. The soldier who gave this story said that even though he told terrible stories of dehumanization committed by Israel soldiers, we should not blame the soldier, but blame the system. The system of occupation that is now in place in the West Bank and Gaza, is one in which any soldier that enters it will ultimately commit acts of dehumanization. Occupation is a dehumanizing system in itself. To blame Israeli soldiers immediately for their reactions without trying to see them as human, is only committing the same crime of dehumanization against them as they are committing against the Palestinians.

On one hand I am angry at the violence that is used against my friends who are only trying to express their feelings and not let their land be stolen while they sit on the sidelines watching it happen. On the other hand, I cannot be mad and judging of these soldiers, because I have met soldiers who are good people, but have grown up in a thickly rooted system of oppression in the Palestinian Territories. My two conflicting emotions boil up inside of me as a deep sadness. I have learned to love this country; to see both cultures as unique, to see the landscape as extremely beautiful, to have met friends on both sides. I find myself hoping deep inside that this conflict would just end, so that both sides would stop being dehumanized.

There are so many more things I could say about my thoughts that came from this particular demonstration, but I would say that this blog post is long enough. Instead I will give a link to Stephen Sizer's blog. He also attended this demonstration. Click on this link to see his pictures, his video and his reflections: Non-Violent Resistance met with Lethal Force in Beit Jala.

In Conclusion, I wish that I was passionate for one side or the other. I wish that I wasn't constantly being met with new view that I couldn't help but understand. I think my life would be a lot easier in this way, and would have a more visible definition. But instead, I am trying to learn to be content with my ever-changing thoughts and attraction towards the middle rather than one opposing end.