One Sunday a friend, a middle-aged man with three children, took me walking with his youngest son and his dog in Cremisan in the West Bank. As we walked through the paths of the forest, he told me that this has always been a special place for him since he grew up picnicking and hiking among that greenery and then raised his own kids to enjoy the same experiences. But now when he walks there, he said, there is a different kind of feeling, a sadness in the knowledge that one day he will not be able to walk through the paths he knows so well.
What would prevent him from walking is not old age and tired knees. It is a concrete barrier. When it’s finished, it will swallow Cremisan and surrounding areas of Beit Jala into a no-Palestinian zone.
I notice that I wrote “what would prevent him” instead of “what will prevent him.” While I was in the area, construction was halted. There were trenches in the earth and the beginnings of a wall, but no building activity. It looked to (naive) me like the construction was abandoned because someone had the sense to realize that this is the only green space for Palestinians of that area left as the one in Bethlehem was cleared for a Jewish settlement. But no, there was no sense or sensitivity involved in the construction delay, it was a budget thing. And now construction has resumed. His worries will now become a reality.
While the man and I walked, his son walked farther ahead. Perhaps he had heard his father tell the tragedy of Cremisan before and didn’t want to hear it again. Perhaps he just wanted to mull over his own teenage thoughts. But when Cremisan is taken, where will he go to process his thoughts?
Where will he go to take his girlfriends on walks?
Where will the father go to get fresh air and exercise?
Where will the dog run free and happy?
Where will the families gather to picnic?
When I started to wonder what would happen to me if I were denied access to green spaces, I realized how much I depend on them for mental health. Whenever there’s too much going on in my brain to handle, I drop everything and go outside. I walk and wander, feeling the earth beneath my feet support me until the air calms me and I am well. If I didn’t have that, I would have nowhere to become grounded.
So now what? These people are left without a local green space. To access others, they have to go through checkpoints and travel on roads that zigzag and detour far from their destinations just because they are Palestinian and therefore cannot access the good roads. These deterrents do succeed in deterring people from leaving the area often.
And so I cannot help but think of these people, these families, as caged. And I thank everything that I am not subjected to that kind of oppression.
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Here is footage of Palestinians, Israelis, and internationals resisting the destruction of olive trees and confiscation of land in Beit Jala, where Cremisan is.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uss76bDKimw