Olive Tree planting protest in lands stolen from Jayyous village by the Israeli Apartheid Wall December 30th and 31st 2004

30th of December 2004

Myself and ten other Internationals arrive at Qalqilya checkpoint to camp out on the Israeli side of the Apartheid wall prior to a symbolic olive tree planting action the following day with Tayush members (an Israeli peace group).
This symbolic planting of olive saplings is happening on the site of the apartheid wall plundered land of Abu Hassan. We will be staying in a hut on his stolen earth and then join with the 300 strong Tayush group for our peasant action in the early afternoon.

Abu Hassan takes me on his tractor along with all the other internationals baggage. There is no trailer on this baby and our many backpacks are crammed in around Abu Hassans body. I am standing on some kind of suspension chain thingy clinging on for dear life. We bump through muddy trenches, the tractor sometimes lurching to capsize point.
Wow! All around me are orange and lemon trees this place is beautiful. The luggage and I are transferred to another tractor this time one with a trailer phew! I munch tangerines handed to me by the farm workers.
We arrive at our sleeping destination, a workers hut but really a well-equipped cottage. The others arrive some time later, and Abu Hassan tells the tragic story of his stolen land over an evening campfire.
The initial land for the wall, in Jayyous region was sold by a farmer to the Israeli state, masked men later executed him as a collaborator in his home; his sons did not try to defend him. The Israeli state then looked about acquiring the surrounding lands but the other farmers refused to sell. So they just took the land by simply redrawing the maps. In the case of Abu Hassan they made a quarry of his olive groves and gave no warning as they blew up his hill. The explosion ricocheted like an earthquake through his orange groves.
Their wicked plan is to build a settlement, wall and road right across these beautiful orchards.
The next day’s action is to plant tiny olive saplings along the scar of their explosion and then march to the gateway separating Jayyous’s lands from Jayyous village to meet with the protest coming from the Palestinian side of the fence (electrified).

31st December 2004

Morning breaks and a hummer drives past our hut as we sit outside having breakfast. We spot soldiers watching us from behind the water tower. The previous night we had climbed this tower to watch the moon rise, everything had seemed so tranquil awash in the moon’s warm glow and now the hectic desperation of a fascist state despoils this land. We had not realized how close the army was to us.

The Tayush three hundred arrives with banners of peace and fifteen security vehicles trailing them. They set about enthusiastically planting the saplings in front of the TV cameras. There are various sorts of police and army who arrive with the group, the normal army, the blue uniforms of the border police, and the settler police in white people carriers. This bunch of uniforms escorts the protest down towards the gateway. The border police and army keep trying to throw cordons in front of us, but the group moves around into the olive groves hopping over dry stonewalls all the time pressing forwards to the fence. The uniforms force the majority of the protest back to the narrow path flowing down hill between two walls. This leaves us with a problematic exit strategy should things turn nasty.
About three hundred yards from the gateway the path travels up hill and round a sharp bend where it continues along side the fence, which splits the farm, lands from Jayyous village. We are prevented by the security forces from continuing to the gateway to meet the Palestinian protest, which we can see in the distance running towards the gate. A small delegation of four from the Israeli protest is allowed through to the village side, this includes Abu Hassan and a woman toting an olive branch.
There are cheers as they cross and then return. At the same time as this a donkey cart carrying two farm workers lurches along the bumpy road through our protest. The army /border police halt the cart then allow it to continue towards the gate. It makes its slow and painstaking journey up the hill where the personnel of two jeeps stationed there halt it once more. One man is asked to get down and move away from the cart. Then once more they are allowed to continue. They move alongside the fence this time towards the hummer stationed one hundred yards from the gate.
They are stopped and not allowed to carry on. Myself and another activist watch the progress of the cart with concern. Mean while the Tayush are being dispersed back to their buses. We alert them to the situation of the donkey cart and ask that they stay and show solidarity with the men in the cart who are probably being held up because of our protest. The Tayush seem anxious to return to their buses and one participant said, “ Why should I worry about this, this happens all the time here!”
Another said “ I came all the way from France to plant these trees don’t spoil it, this happens all the time.”
“ But surely that is why we here”, we say, “Because this happens all the time, please stay and show solidarity, it is not just about your symbolic protest!”
The Tayush ignore us and walk quickly back to their buses, leaving a small group of us ISMers arguing with the border police who then force us towards the buses on the other side of the quarry away from our hut. We move deliberately only just keeping ahead of the soldiers and border police. The road track is pitted with large puddles which we gingerly edge around fearing the jeeps zooming through and soaking us.

The settler police roar past the soldiers in their people carrier soaking them, we laugh as we hear their indignant cries of “lo! Lo! Lo!” A sneaky activist managed to get a shot of the hopping mad wet and muddy soldiers.

We try to return to the hut across the illegal quarry, a hummer growls up behind us and two soldiers jump out demanding to know where we are going. We explain that we have to get our things then we will be leaving. “ We shall escort you “ say the soldiers.
“I’d rather you didn’t, I don’t like people with guns.” I say.
They walk behind us as we clamper over rocks and thorn bushes back to the hut. They crouch behind the water tower once more as we settle down in plastic chairs to coffee and tangerines. I have never eaten so many in all my life!
We await the arrival of Abu Hassan’s mighty tractor replete with trailer this time, which ferries our stuff and us to Jayush village. The trailer is crowded containing all eleven of us so not much foot room. We cling on singing as we travel in to the setting sun towards the gateway. The Swedish contingent is singing about Pippi Longstocking and we stagger towards the soldiers. They demand that each of us get down from the tractor. I approach them singing the sesame street theme tune as I hand over my passport. They let us all through and we process through the village to meet the internationals on the Jayyous side.
We celebrate New Years Eve together in a wild fest of Pringles and Fanta, sharing our wishes of peace for the year to come.

1st January 2005

We have decided to stay in Jayyous for another day at the request of the villagers to help pick their olives. With the imposition of electric fences and gateways across their land the Israelis have granted permits for the farmers to enter their own fields, no permit no entry. The number of permits issued is extremely limited and does not allow for the labour needed to successfully harvest a full crop. The olives are often left rotting on the bough. The villagers hope that with our passports we can enter the land and help harvest the olives.
They tell us that that gates will open at 8.00 so we split into two groups my group will go with Mohammed’s land which can be accessed through gate 26.
We arrive. The fence is comprised of two layers, the inner electrified the outer surrounded on either side by moats full of looped razor wire it seems to continue on to infinity.
A sign on the outer gate says when they will open up. The times are scrawled on the sign in marker pen and can be changed on the whim of the army. Three lots of fifteen-minute intervals ranged throughout the day are the only times when the villagers and only (those lucky enough to have the rarely given special permits) can enter their own land.
And yes the times have been changed by the evil army pixies in the night. The morning gate opening is no longer 8.00 until 8.15 but is now 6.00 until 6.15. We have missed the morning access point. One of our number calls the hilariously named ‘humanitarian hot line’ they will not admit they are anything to do with the gate. Next we try the emergency number, they are as helpful as a corpse and tell us we can call whom we like but they will not help us!
A hummer stops by for some reason and tells Mohamed that the gate will open again at 12.30. We leave for the time being but plan to return at 12.30 to see if they are lying or not.
We return and yes you’ve guessed it they lied! We bang on the gate in a improvised percussive sound experiment, and sing “let us in let us in !”
Some children throw stones into the gully of barbed wire, this seems to set off a sensor. Another hummer drives through the village right up to us. They tell us that our passports will not get us through the gate and that only those with the farmers permit will be let through.
At 1.45 the gate opens, tractors pass, and a huge flock of sheep, this is such a So traditionally biblical image but it is incongruous seeing this image commonly used by Christian illustrators everywhere, passing by an electric fence and razor wire. Two little children herd the sheep through behind their grandfather Shepard along the infinity of razor wire.
We are not let through without us Mohamed sees little point in crossing so we return to the village feeling futile.