This morning, we visited Wi’am: The Palestinian Conflict Transformation Center in Bethlehem, and the Alrowwad Cultural and Arts Society in the nearby Aida refugee camp. It was a morning of contrasts—between vivid manifestations of Israeli state aggression, and inspiring examples of grassroots community-building.
I have spent a good portion of my career working in various ways to support community organizers, many of whom like to describe their work as “building power.” Some see this in exclusively tactical terms, i.e. how much pressure they are able to place on decision-makers. But I have always believed that the most meaningful forms of “building power” are also (if not moreso) focused on cultivating relationships and insights, building a capacity for self determination and resistance that cannot be fully taken away by any policy change or powerful institution flexing its muscle.
The Separation Wall by Wi’am’s play yard
Wi’am draws out connections between the violence and trauma individuals are experiencing in their lives and families, and the broader injustices of life under occupation. They use Sulha, a traditional Arab form of conflict mediation, in conjunction with other methods, to make individual conflicts (for e.g., domestic violence situations) opportunities to transform lives and relationships, and to “empower the weak, and bring the powerful to their senses.” At one point, their Program Director Imad Nassar discussed how their need to respond to the immediate pressures and frustrations their youth participants bring to meetings forces them to temporarily divert from their broader agenda for the young people’s program. I almost inquired whether he sees their work more as crisis intervention, or the cultivation of something new. Then the topic shifted, and I never asked. But I realize now that to dichotomize these two objectives is false. They are deeply intertwined, with the former enabling the latter. Digging beneath the surface of conflicts, they often discover root causes that are enabled by the Occupation and human rights violations. Their process, as Imad described, “lays the groundwork for a Palestinian civil society focused on justice and human rights.”
“Images for Life” photo project, Al Rowwad
Similarly, Alrowwad uses the arts to generate not just hope, but also new forms of community and cultural capital. The Aida refugee camp has been in existence since the 1948 Al-Nakba, and is much more built out than what most folks probably imagine when they hear the term “refugee camp.” A portion of its residents stay for explicitly activist purposes: They do not want to leave the camp and forfeit the right of return that was granted by the United Nations and accepted by the Israeli State as a condition for U.N. membership, but which has never been implemented or enforced. Alrowwad’s motto is “beautiful resistance.” Youth participants in their programs are enabled to become the authors rather than just subjects of their own stories, through training in documentary filmmaking, theater or dance, amongst other media. Do not send us humanitarian aid, their founder Dr. Abdelfattah Abusrour told us. Rather, participate in partnerships, or contribute financially, to facilitate the kind of projects that develop real capital within the community.
At both organizations, I was reminded of the grassroots youth organizers whose work I’ve supported in my hometown of Chicago. In particular, Wi’am’s mediation process, which engages the whole community to address individuals’ conflicts, had me thinking about U.S., youth of color-led organizations that advocate for restorative justice responses to violence and conflict in order to reduce reliance upon the police and prison system. But our contexts are different, and false equivalencies are dangerous. Far more relevant is how our issues and communities directly intersect—we learned that U.S. police departments are coming to Israel for tactical training, and that we supply the Israeli military with the tear gas that is a daily reality in the lives of Palestinian young people.
Usama teaching from the rooftop
After our meeting with Wi’am, we stood on the roof of their building, where our guide Usama pointed out some of the most visible and immediate signs of occupation. The separation wall has been built to cut directly into Bethlehem, along the side of Wi’am’s courtyard and playground, in order to keep Rachel’s tomb on the Israeli side. Graffiti on the concrete barrier reads, “RACHEL IS WEEPING.” Immediately to the right sits a continuously occupied guard tower, and a water cannon that earlier this summer, sprayed skunk water on children playing during summer camp. Taking photographs, I was too scared to even point my phone in the tower’s direction, despite the unlikelihood of my being noticed.
I never like to give oppression the last word, so on the way out, I snapped a quick photo of the sign affixed to Wi’am’s gate. It’s a literal invitation: Join Us for Coffee & Chat About Economic, Political & Religious Issues.
~Tim Jones-Yelvington,
Program Director, Foresight Prep @ Oberlin College (www.foresightprep.org)
Chicago, IL
