Israeli banners on the streets of the occupied West Bank

Writer: Dr. Ahmed Rafiq Awad

Anyone who travels between Ramallah and Jenin sees exactly the state we have reached in our struggle with the Israeli occupation. Along this road, there are cement cubes, barbed wire, yellow and red gates, and dirt barriers, while the destruction and uprooting of olive trees continues at a distance of 150 to 200 meters on both sides of the street. There is also rapid work to build new parallel roads, in a clear attempt to change the shape of the occupied West Bank and reshape its geography to serve the Israeli settlement project.

Before approaching Nablus, at the Zaatara junction or Zaatara checkpoint, the traveler sees how the Israeli road network is trying to completely strangle the city. The wide entrances to Nablus are being closed or narrowed, and replaced with narrow and broken entrances, which are not appropriate for a large industrial and commercial city like Nablus. Narrow corridors are left through Awarta, Sura, and Al-Murabba’a, while huge, colonial streets are built to connect the settlements and facilitate the movement of settlers, without any consideration for the needs of the Palestinians or their right to movement and mobility. They are streets designed to serve the settlements, and they open the way for the extremist settlement project to expand and control more lands.

But the traveler on this road, whether he is heading from Ramallah to Jenin or vice versa, will notice, in addition to the checkpoints, gates and new roads, another sight that is no less important and significant: the Israeli banners spread on both sides of the road. These signs, regardless of their shapes and contents, are not merely directional signs or electoral propaganda, but rather part of a broader scene that reflects the nature of the struggle over the place, the attempt to impose a single identity on it, and the exclusion of everything related to the Palestinian presence, history, and memory.

There are election banners for Smotrich, Ben Gvir, Netanyahu, Eisenkot and other candidates. Some of them borrow verses and passages from the Torah, others recall loud nationalist slogans, while other banners talk about the Messiah, and about the Messiah who will establish the State of Israel, in reference to a biblical and theological vision that many settlers believe in. In addition, there are signs for restaurants and car repair shops, and others for apartments and housing, as well as religious and national slogans full of national and religious pride, all the way to the well-known slogans that say that there is no future for Palestinians in this country.

In parallel with all this, Israeli flags are spread along the road between Ramallah and Jenin. There is an important note here: the signs mention the names of the settlements, but they do not mention the names of the Palestinian Arab villages, as if these villages do not exist, or as if their existence, history, and the connection of their people to the place are matters not worth mentioning. These details, despite their apparent simplicity, reveal an attempt to change the image of the place in consciousness, so that the settlement becomes the address, the Israeli flag is the sign, and the colonial road is the only reality that the traveler must see and deal with.

It is clear that this major change in the shape of the road and its assets is not a passing matter, nor is it merely an infrastructure work. It is an attempt to normalize the idea of ​​Israelization and Judaization, break down geographical and political barriers, and impose a new reality in which there is no longer a difference between areas classified as “A,” “B,” and “C,” nor between inside and outside the Green Line. There is an attempt to stabilize the annexation, establish ownership of the place, and impose the Israeli presence visually, so that it becomes part of the daily scene that the Palestinian is intended to get used to. It is an attempt to impose control over the place by changing its landmarks and symbols, not through military force alone.

The truth is that the traveler between Ramallah and Jenin feels extremely alienated and deflated, and also feels afraid. Everything seems to depend on the mood of a soldier at a checkpoint or the aggression of a settler, which can turn an ordinary trip into an unexpected confrontation. Thus, travel turns into an uncertain adventure, a journey full of dangers, in which the Palestinian does not know whether he will reach his destination safely or whether he will find himself facing a new checkpoint or a new attack.

The Palestinian is forced to use colonial streets hostile to him, designed on the basis of subjugation and control, and full of cameras and surveillance tools. And he cannot, by the way, stop there as he pleases; There are no suitable places to rest, no spaces where he can stop to buy something or catch his breath, and no shades that allow him to rest for a while. Many places, facilities and trees surrounding the road were demolished and removed, under the pretext of seeking security, until the road itself became a space that does not allow the Palestinian to deal with it as a natural part of his daily life.

We ask here: What does it mean for a person to travel on a street where he cannot stop? What does it mean to always have to speed up, to feel that his presence in a place is a burden or a source of danger, and for his relationship with the road to be governed by fear and anticipation? Preventing a person from stopping on the road is not related to freedom of movement alone, but it is also related to his relationship with the place and his ability to feel that he is a part of it, and not just a passerby who is forced to leave it as quickly as possible.

Homeland is not just a home; Home is feelings, thoughts, memories, colours, smells and tastes. It is small details that accumulate in memory and create a person’s relationship with his land and surroundings, and give him a sense of belonging and security. But the traveler on this road does not feel this at all; He travels apprehensively and fearfully, forced to speed and not stop, as if he is crossing a strange place, not a place where he belongs and lives.

The road between Ramallah and Jenin has turned into a piece of hell, with all its dangers, checkpoints, military and settlement manifestations, and scenes of uprooting and destruction. The question that imposes itself here: Will all of this lead to a settlement? Can it lead to calm and stability? I don't think it will lead to this at all. What is happening is an attempt to completely marginalize the residents of this country, push them into a corner, and deny their right to the place and their relationship with it, as if this relationship could be erased by changing roads, uprooting trees, establishing settlements, and spreading flags and banners.

Imposing a new geographical and demographic reality does not necessarily mean that this reality will become stable, nor that people will abandon their memory and relationship with their land. Place is not just a space whose features can be changed or whose boundaries can be redrawn, but it is also a memory, an identity, and a life experience. Perhaps this geographical and demographic engineering will lead, at some point, to a moment in which everything will be examined again. Attempts to impose control over the place, marginalize its residents, and deny their relationship with it do not mean that the conflict has ended, nor that the way has become paved for a settlement or calm. Rather, these practices, with their exclusion and subjugation, may be an additional reason for the continuation and deepening of the conflict.