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120 pages, Paperback
First published June 15, 2012
It is only now, about halfway into the trip, that I think about the strategy of occupation. How do you subjugate a people?
By nihilism, chaos and anarchy in the name of control. You do it by sabotaging their certainty, by toying capriciously with their presumptions, by continually tilting the playing field, moving the goalposts, reversing decisions, twisting definitions, warping parameters. You control where people can and can’t go, then change the rules arbitrarily so that they cannot make plans or have any stable expectations. You give a permit to one person but deny one to another person who’s in exactly the same circumstances, so that people cannot deduce, conjecture or extrapolate based on an individual’s experience. You make them feel that their house is not their home and can be violated, occupied, demolished or taken at any time, so they cannot fully relax even in their own beds. You isolate them and put a wall where their view used to be. You instigate a faux ‘system’ of permits, which is deliberately obscure and can be changed at any time. You shout at them in a language that is not their own and which they do not understand. You monitor them. When they travel you put your hands all over their possessions. You arrest and question anyone for any reason at any time, or threaten to, so they are always in fear of it. You are armed. You intimidate their children. You change the appearance of their cities and ensure that the new, alien elements—the walls, roads, settlements, sides of walkways, gates, tanks, surveillance towers, concrete blocks—are much bigger than them or on higher ground so that they feel diminished and watched. You make everything ugly so that seeing is painful.
Their consolation is that if they die, the euphemism ‘martyr’ will conceal the ignominy.
The wall is what most outsiders know of Palestine but the immensity and the oppressiveness of the thing itself cannot be imagined. To look at it for a moment makes the bones ache with claustrophobia; to live within its slabs must feel like being buried alive.
Their consolation is that if they die, the euphemism ‘martyr’ will conceal the ignominy.