Avi — Hass — Gate to nowhere
Topic(s): Palestine / Israel | Comments Off on Avi — Hass — Gate to nowhereGate to nowhere
By Amira Hass
For the past two months and more, 7,500 olive saplings ready for
planting have lain scattered about the village of Qafin, in the
northwest area of the West Bank. Al Ahali, an association from
Nazareth, donated the trees as part of an effort to help
Palestinian farmers who have been adversely affected by the
separation fence. The saplings are growing, their roots have begun
to stretch their tight nylon wrapping, and the budding leaves have
begun to go dry, but the unlucky villagers cannot plant them. We
went there to find out why.
Most of the village’s farmland – 5,000 of the 8,200 dunams (1,250
of 2,050 acres) – is on the opposite side of the separation fence
from their homes. According to the calculation of Tawfiq Harsha,
the head of the local council, about 100,000 trees, mostly olive,
are still growing in this area, after 12,600 were uprooted during
the building of the fence. On the land between the groves people
grew wheat, tobacco, watermelons and okra – crops that require
daily care.
While the fence was still being built, the defense establishment
promised the farmers they would have regular access to their land
through a special gate. In response to the farmers’ concerns, Gil
Limon, from the office of the Israel Defense Forces’ legal adviser
in the West Bank, wrote, on September 23, 2003, to attorney Fathi
Shbeita of the Israeli town of Tira: “The problem described in
your letter, regarding the absence of an agricultural gate in the
area of Qafin village, is being dealt with by the Civil
Administration with the intention of defining the appropriate gate
through which the residents will be able to reach their lands.”
On October 12, 2003, about two months before the completion of the
gate in the area, Danilo Darman, also from the legal adviser’s
office, informed Shbeita that “a suitable place has been found for
a separate agricultural gate for the residents of Qafin and the
work in this matter is in an advanced stage. I am hereby updating
you that the entry permits for the residents of Qafin are ready at
the District Coordination and Liaison office [DCL], Tul Karm, and
all your clients and their neighbors have to do, is go to the DCL
and get the permits.”
Really?
Very distant relations
The requests are filled out at the town hall, from where they are
sent to the Palestinian DCL in Tul Karm, which forwards them to
the Israeli DCL (a unit of the Civil Administration), which
approves or rejects them. Qafin has a population of 9,000.
Six-hundred families – between 3,000 and 3,600 people – have land
and trees on the other side of the fence. In May of this year,
1,050 villagers applied for permits to access their land. Only 70
were granted them, 600 got a negative reply and the rest, 380
people, received no reply at all. One of the common reasons for
rejections is a “distant relation” status – that is, the applicant
is too distant a relation to the landowner, a situation that
supposedly does not justify a permit.
In this way, the requests of two of the three sons of Abd al-Rahim
Kataneh, a 61-year-old farmer who has 80 dunams (20 acres) of land
(which are registered in his name), were rejected because they are
“distant relations.” The third son did not even get a reply.
Sharif Kataneh, 70, who asked for a permit for him and his wife to
work on lands registered in the name of his father and his
father-in-law, received a partial permit: He can enter, but his
wife was turned down because she is a “distant relation.”
After the request of Ribhe Amarneh, 48, and his brother to work
land that is registered in their uncle’s name was also rejected
because of a “distant relation” status, Amarneh submitted a
request through the village of Akkabe, whose residents are
descended from Qafin families, and received the permit. Now he can
at last check the damage done to his trees, he said. A fire
erupted in his olive grove in mid-May. He stood behind the fence,
a 10-minute walk from the grove, and could do nothing. The
Palestinian firefighters did not get there in time either, because
coordination with the army is needed to cross the fence, but the
fire did not take that into account.
Amarneh’s entry permit is via Gate 5. Tawfiq Taami, also from
Qafin, has a permit to enter via Gate 12, which is close to the
village and the closest to most of the farmlands. However, it is
defined not as an “agricultural gate,” but as a “military gate.”
True, in the season of the olive harvest, the army allowed people
through the gate, but even then it was opened only three times a
day for a few minutes and then shut.
Seven of us – five Palestinian farmers and two Israelis – waited
behind the barbed-wire fence until a Jeep arrived from which a
redheaded soldier emerged who did not conceal his surprise at
seeing us there.
“There is no entry from here,” he said. “This is only for the
olive harvesting season.”
“But the Civil Administration permits say Gate 12,” we insisted.
“What is 12?” the soldier said, perplexed. “All I know is that
this is Gate 346.”
Following several clarifications on the wireless, he was persuaded
that Gates 346 and 12 are synonymous, but that did not change his
mind.
“There is no entry to Israel from here,” he said.
“They don’t want to enter Israel, they want to enter their land,”
we explained.
“To be politically correct, it is all Israel,” he replied. After
consulting some more on the wireless, the soldier announced that
the Haaretz correspondent and photographer were permitted to cross
– but not the Qafin residents whose land is on the other side of
the gate.
“This is a DCL permit,” the soldier explained. “The army is not
obliged to work according to it.”
He sent us to Gate 1, the old Bartaa gate, which lies three
kilometers to the north. The villagers listened to this exchange
with astonishment. That gate, which is adjacent to an armored
observation site, is usually closed. It is opened only in
ultra-special cases, after various forms of coordination, and not
for agricultural purposes – but they agreed to try. After making
our way three kilometers on a battered rural road, we reached Gate
1, which was closed. We continued to Gate 5, which is located at
the Reihan terminal, a vast structure offering free passage for
settlers’ vehicles and carefully monitored foot passage for
residents of the villages west of the fence.
Reihan terminal is 12 kilometers from Qafin and it is not served
by public transportation. Those without a car – namely, most of
the village residents – must order a taxi and pay NIS 30. No taxis
can pass through the terminal, and mules are also barred. To
remove all doubt, a sign next to the pedestrians’ gate states: “No
passage of goods, electrical appliances, animals, clothes, vehicle
parts, etc.”
Mohammed Sabah, a 60-year-old farmer who didn’t even bother
submitting a request for a permit and accompanied us in order to
demonstrate that it is pointless to apply, said, “So how are we
going to get 7,500 saplings in?”
At 1 P.M. dozens of people crowded around the gate under a blazing
sun. Every few minutes the soldiers opened the gate, for two
people at a time, who were checked at an electromagnetic gate. In
between, they left the gate closed, sometimes for up to five
minutes, with the result that it was 2:20 before we succeeded in
entering. From there it is prohibited to continue on foot, only by
car. A few car owners from Bartaa are making a living from this
ban. Now, without implements and without saplings, we paid NIS 3
each and got into one of the cars that drove about two kilometers
to the south, back to the closed Gate 1.
We got out next to the armored observation tower, from which a
disembodied Hebrew voice called, “Hey, hey, where to?” The head of
a soldier peeked out from the high opening. “We are from Haaretz
and these are farmers who are going to their land.” He undoubtedly
called his mother unit and then got back to us: “So why not in a
car?” he shouted from on high. “Because that is forbidden,” we
replied. “Do you know them all?” he asked. It was clear from his
questions that he had never encountered a farmer who had come to
work his land, and he had not been briefed by his commanding
officer about the nature of the place.
From there we proceeded on foot. Hilly terrain, with green slopes
and rises, lies across the road that leads to Bartaa. We walked
between the trees, the rocks and the valleys. It was about two
kilometers to Amarneh’s scorched grove. It is about four
kilometers to Taami’s land. Amarneh decided to continue; Taami had
had enough. If he had gone on to his land, his day would have
looked like this: 24 kilometers from Qafin to the Reihan terminal
and back, at a cost of NIS 60; an hour’s wait at the terminal;
four kilometers and NIS 6 for the round trip between Reihan and
Gate 1; and another eight kilometers on foot back and forth. By
the time he reached his land, he would have had to return. In any
case, without implements or saplings he could have done no more
than tear off a few dried leaves and loosen the soil with his
hands.
“It’s an outing, no more,” Taami summed up. “A whole day just to
cry next to our neglected soil and return, and pay NIS 66 which
nobody has.”
The IDF Spokesperson’s Office said in response that in the days
ahead representatives of the IDF and the Civil Administration will
visit the place in order to find a solution to the problems raised
in this article.