From the Roots of the Olive to the Right to the Land: The Palestinian Story

Writer: Hadeel Yassin

Scene One: The living memory of the place

There are places that cannot be reduced to the limits of geography, whose area cannot be measured by meters or maps, and whose identity cannot be erased no matter how much time passes or how many attempts to change their features are made. Places that go beyond being a residential space, to become part of the collective consciousness, an authentic pillar of national identity, and a living witness to the facts of history that no force, no matter how great, can cancel or remove from the memory of their owners.

In Palestine, the land is not just a space on which we live, nor is it a border that separates one place from another. It is the memory we carry, the history we inherited, the identity passed down through generations, and the deep-rooted relationship between man and place. Here, every stone has a story, every tree has a testimony, every road has a trace of the steps of those who came before us, and every village, town and city has a name that carries in its letters the biography of its people, the features of their lives, and the details of their existence connected to this land across generations.

In Palestine, the fields speak of those who planted them, and the olive trees preserve the stories of the families who took care of them, while the old houses, wells, agricultural terraces, shrines, and heritage roads stand as material evidence of a historical, social, and cultural relationship that did not arise in a passing moment, nor was it shaped by a political decision, but rather was created by daily life, work, agriculture, memory, and extended human inheritance.

This land is not a novel told by one side, nor is it a memory that can be erased by changing names, obliterating landmarks, or redrawing maps. It is a historical and cultural reality rooted in the place, confirmed by evidence of urbanization, lifestyles, ownership, agriculture, and social ties that linked the Palestinian to his land, generation after generation. Hence, protecting the Palestinian place is not just an emotional act that recalls the past, but rather a national, cultural and legal responsibility related to preserving identity, protecting heritage, preserving the rights associated with the land, and ensuring the transmission of this memory to future generations.

National memory is not nostalgia for a bygone time, but rather a testimony to continuity, awareness of rights, and adherence to identity in the face of everything that threatens the features of a place or seeks to separate it from its people and history. When the land is uprooted, or trees are uprooted, or houses are demolished, or historical monuments are obliterated, the loss does not stop at the borders of stone and trees; It extends to collective memory, to the right of society to preserve its heritage, and to the relationship that brings mankind together with his natural and cultural surroundings.

From the perspective of international law, the protection of land, population and cultural property is inseparable from the system of rules regulating the protection of civilians and property in situations of occupation and armed conflict, nor from the obligations related to the protection of cultural property and human heritage. Land is not merely the subject of a struggle over influence, property is not abstracted from its owners, and heritage is not a marginal detail that can be sacrificed. The protection of civilians and their property, respect for legal rights, and preservation of cultural property remain issues subject to specific legal rules that may not be bypassed merely to impose a new reality by force.

In the Palestinian case, these meanings gain special importance, because the connection to the land is not based on memory alone, but rather includes historical, social, economic, and legal dimensions. The house is not only a building, but a space of life and family extension. The field is not only a source of livelihood, but an inherited relationship between man and the source of his survival. The olive tree is not only an element of nature, but also part of the Palestinian cultural landscape, and a symbol of continuity, work and steadfastness.

Hence, defending the memory of the place is defending the right of the Palestinians to narrate their history, protect their heritage, preserve the signs of their existence, and safeguard their legitimate rights in accordance with the rules of international law. It is also an affirmation that national identity is not reduced to documents alone, nor does it stop at political confessions, but rather is embodied in the language, land, customs, architecture, agriculture, and names that still reside in people’s consciences and guide their relationship with their places.

The living memory of place does not only reside in books and archives; It is present in the hand of the farmer when he plows his land, in the steps of the elderly person who returns to his village, in the narration of the grandmother who memorizes the names of springs and fields, and in the child who learns that every tree has a story, every stone has a value, and every place has an identity that should not be treated as a geographical void without owners or history.

This memory is transmitted from generation to generation, not as a burden from the past, but as an awareness of the present and a responsibility towards the future. It gives a person the ability to understand his place in history, helps society protect its narrative from oblivion, and reminds it that preserving heritage is not achieved through slogans alone, but rather through documentation, education, preserving monuments, protecting trees and lands, establishing historical names, and transferring stories from individual memory to the common national consciousness.

Palestine is not just a place on a map; It is the story of a people who have been connected to their land over time, preserved its features in the details of their daily lives, and carried the names of their villages and towns in their memory, even when circumstances prevented them from reaching them. It is a relationship that cannot be shortened by distance, nor ended by years of absence, and it cannot be understood in isolation from history, rights, and human identity.

Here, in Palestine, the land speaks not only of the past; It bears witness to the present and bears responsibility for the future. Here, the memory remains alive as long as there is someone who preserves the name of the place, preserves its trees, documents its history, and clings to its right for the place to remain known to its people, preserved by its heritage, and connected to its national story. The land that preserves the memory of its people is not just land; It is a homeland, and the memory that inhabits it is not just a story; It is part of identity, right and responsibility.

Scene Two: The olive tree

And here, among the olive trees, another story begins; The story of steadfastness, rootedness, and belonging, the story of a land that was never merely a source of livelihood, but rather was and still is an integral part of the Palestinian national identity, an extension of the memory of the ancestors, and a living witness to man’s relationship with his land, a relationship created by years of work and waiting, established by the seasons, and preserved by generations, generation after generation.

Here, in the olive fields, trees stand not only as elements of nature, but as a living record of the history of Palestinian families. Every tree has a story, every branch has a mark, and every trunk has years of giving and waiting. Some of them were planted by the grandfather with his own hands, nurtured by the father with his patience, and the grandson comes today to preserve them, as if the earth were entrusting its children with a trust that does not end with the end of a human being’s life, does not fall with changing circumstances, and does not lose its value when attempts to uproot it from its owners intensify.

The olive tree in Palestine is not just a tree; It is a family memory, a generational heirloom, a source of livelihood, and a symbol of connection to the land. In its shade, the family gathers, and during the season, hands share the harvest of fruits, and from its bounties, man’s relationship with his land continues year after year. When the farmer extends his hand to its branch, he not only picks a fruit, but also reaps the result of his work, preserves a legacy that he acquired from those who came before him, and prepares it for those who will come after him.

It is a relationship that goes beyond the limits of material ownership to a deeper meaning related to identity, human dignity, and legitimate rights. The land that the Palestinian cultivates is not an empty space waiting for someone to impose a new reality on it, nor is it an economic resource that can be separated from the lives of its owners. It is part of a deep-rooted social and cultural fabric, and of a history in which memory intersects with work, belonging with responsibility, and right with the duty to protect and preserve.

However, in various areas of the West Bank, Palestinian olive trees face attacks that include cutting, burning, vandalism, and uprooting, in addition to attacks on farmers and preventing them from accessing some of their lands. The effects of these practices do not stop at the borders of agricultural or economic loss, but rather extend to the lives of families that depend on the olive harvests, to the ability of farmers to continue working on their lands, and to the daily relationship that connects people to their place and source of livelihood.

When an olive tree is cut down, the loss is not measured by the number of its branches alone; A tree that took many years to grow cannot be replaced immediately with a small planting. When it is burned, not only its trunk is damaged, but also years of care and waiting, a family’s ability to benefit from its harvest, and the memory of a place associated with this tree throughout time. When a farmer is prevented from accessing his land, the attack on trees becomes part of a broader suffering that affects his right to use his land and practice his agricultural life in safety.

From a legal perspective, attacks on trees, lands and property may not be treated as a passing matter or a simple agricultural dispute. Rather, each incident must be considered according to its circumstances, the available evidence, and the legal rules applicable to it. In the context of occupation and armed conflict, the system of international humanitarian law provides protection for civilian property and places restrictions on the destruction and seizure of property. Specific rules from the Fourth Geneva Convention of 1949 prohibit the destruction of property of protected persons, except in cases required by military necessity in a manner determined by law. Protecting the environment and property of cultural value also becomes particularly important when these items are destroyed or damaged.

This does not mean that every incident of cutting down a tree or destroying a crop carries a single legal ruling; The legal description requires verifying the facts, the nature of the land and property, the responsible party, and the context in which the attack occurred. However, this legal distinction does not detract from the importance of documentation and accountability, but rather makes them more necessary, because the protection of rights is not based on impressions alone, but rather on evidence, monitoring facts, determining responsibilities, and pursuing remedies in accordance with the law.

Therefore, protecting olive trees is not the responsibility of the farmer alone, nor is it a seasonal duty that ends with the end of the harvest. It is a national, societal and institutional responsibility that requires documenting attacks, protecting agricultural lands, supporting farmers, preserving old trees, and strengthening the presence of legal and human rights institutions in following up on violations. It also requires transferring the story of the olive from the confines of symbolism to the field of action, so that belonging becomes a tangible act in protecting the land, preserving its resources, and establishing the rights of its owners.

With every olive season, the Palestinian returns to his land, not to pick the fruits alone, but to renew his connection to the place, preserve his source of livelihood, and confirm the continuity of his agricultural life. He carries his tools, reaches into his trees, inspects the branches that have been weighed down by the seasons, tends to the trunks that need care, and replants where the trees have been damaged or uprooted. In these daily details, the meanings of steadfastness are evident. Not as a word said, but rather an ongoing practice that requires patience, work, and the ability to protect life despite difficulties.

The Palestinian who replants his land does not just restore a tree; He rebuilds part of his relationship with the place, maintains the cycle of life that the attack tried to disrupt, and clings to his right to work, produce, and survive. In doing so, it sends a clear message: that land is not reduced in a moment of aggression, that losing a season does not end a history, and that uprooting a tree does not erase a family’s memory or cancel rights determined by law.

The olive tree teaches us that being rooted does not only mean remaining fixed in a place, but it also means bearing responsibility towards it. To protect it from neglect and vandalism, preserve its resources, document its history, and preserve it for future generations. Patriotism is not a discourse separated from the land, but rather a commitment embodied in caring for a tree, protecting a field, supporting a farmer, and defending legitimate rights through legal and humanitarian means.

Here, among the olive trees, the Palestinian story is embodied in its most life-like form: land that is cultivated, hands that work, memory that is passed down through generations, and rights that should not be lost between power and imposed reality. Branches may be broken, trees may be burned, and seasons may be damaged, but the responsibility to protect the land remains, and the duty to preserve rights does not waive, and the story of the olive continues as long as there is someone who cares for the tree, preserves the name of the place, and clings to his legitimate right to his land. These trees are not just a witness to the past; It is part of the life of the present and the security of the future, and its roots in the land are a constant reminder that protecting the place begins with protecting the human being, his rights and dignity.

Scene Three: The settlers are disappearing

Scenes may change, new facts may be imposed on the ground, walls may rise, roads may be built, and settlements may be established across the Palestinian geography, but the facts imposed by force do not, once imposed, turn into a legitimate right, and establishments, no matter how large they are, cannot create an alternative history, give uprooting legitimacy, or eliminate a people’s connection to their land, memory, and national identity.

The Earth is not a silent space waiting for someone to place marks on it, nor is it a geographical vacuum that can be redefined by unilateral decisions or field measures. It is a homeland with its own people, history, social and cultural extension, and rights related to human existence, ownership, use, and a decent life. Hence, the conflict on Palestinian land is not related to stone and building alone, but rather goes beyond them to a fundamental question about rights, the limits of power, and the difference between a reality imposed on the land and a right based on the rules of law and principles of justice.

In the face of settlement and attacks, the Palestinian clings to his right to his land, to his presence in his village, his field, and his home, and to his right to live without threat, displacement, or assault. He clings to the place because it is part of his life, and because the relationship with the land does not begin when political borders change and does not end when barriers are erected or roads are closed. It is a relationship formed over generations, and manifested in homes, fields, agricultural terraces, olive trees, cemeteries, and names that still preserve the memory of Palestinian villages and towns.

But settlement is not just a change in the urban landscape; It is a political and legal issue related to land, population, sovereignty and rights. The United Nations Security Council, in Resolution 2334 of 2016, affirmed that Israeli settlements in the Palestinian territories occupied since 1967, including East Jerusalem, have no legal legitimacy, and called for an end to settlement activities. The International Court of Justice, in its Advisory Opinion of 19 July 2024 on the legal consequences arising from Israel’s policies and practices in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, also concluded that Israel’s continued presence in the Occupied Palestinian Territory is unlawful, and set out legal obligations related to ending this presence, stopping new settlement activities, and evacuating settlers from the Occupied Palestinian Territory, according to what was stated in the Advisory Opinion.

Here the importance of distinguishing between power and legitimacy becomes clear: having the ability to establish a facility or impose a measure on the ground does not mean having the legal right to do so, just as the continuation of a field reality for years does not automatically turn it into a legitimate reality. International law does not make rights hostage to the balance of power, nor does it grant unilateral measures immunity from accountability simply because they have become part of the daily scene. Rather, respect for the law requires consideration of the nature of the measure, its effects on the population and the land, and the extent of its consistency with relevant international obligations.

In Palestinian villages, the effects of settlement do not appear in the form of buildings alone; It is also embodied in the restrictions imposed on access to agricultural land, in attacks on farmers, in the damage to trees and crops, and in the fears that accompany the lives of families close to settlements and outposts. These practices, depending on their nature and circumstances, may weaken the ability of residents to practice their daily lives and benefit from their lands and sources of livelihood, and exacerbate the pressures that push some of them to leave their places of residence.

When a farmer is prevented from accessing his field, or his house is attacked, or his trees are destroyed, the issue does not stop at direct damage; It extends to his right to a safe life, to protect his property, to practice his agricultural activity, and to maintain the stability of his family and community. From a legal perspective, these facts require documentation, investigation, and determination of responsibilities in accordance with applicable evidence and rules. They also require providing protection for residents and their property, and holding those responsible for illegal acts accountable in accordance with the relevant legal frameworks.

Protecting Palestinian rights is not achieved by simply declaring positions. Rather, it requires transforming legal principles into practical procedures: documenting attacks, preserving evidence and testimonies, identifying sites and damages, following up on files before the competent authorities, strengthening legal protection for farmers and landowners, and activating diplomatic and legal efforts aimed at implementing international resolutions and commitments. The law does not lose its value when implementation is delayed, but its effectiveness remains linked to the ability of institutions and states to respect and implement it and hold those who violate it accountable.

In return, the Palestinian continues his life on his land. He plants, builds, and restores, teaches his children the names of villages, mountains, and valleys, and preserves the memory of the place from loss. His presence is not reduced to a political position or a passing slogan, but is embodied in daily details that create the continuity of society: in the door of the house that is opened every morning, in the land that is plowed, in the olive tree that is watered, in the school that receives children, and in the family that clings to its right to survive and live in dignity.

This adherence is not a denial of the magnitude of the challenges, nor a disregard for the losses and suffering caused by the attacks. Rather, it is an affirmation that the Palestinian is not merely a recipient of events, and that his life, his rights, and his future should not be reduced to the facts that are imposed on him. He has a right to protection, dignity, and security, and he has a historical and social relationship with his land, and he has the right to have his rights respected in accordance with international law, far from the logic of coercion, discrimination, and escaping accountability.

As for the title of this scene, “The Settlers are Disappearing,” it should not be understood as a call to target people or predict their fate, but rather as an expression of the refusal to turn settlement into an eternal reality, and the insistence that illegal situations do not become legitimate simply because they continue. What is meant is the disappearance of the logic of appropriation and exclusion, an end to policies and practices that violate rights, and the removal of obstacles to Palestinians exercising their legitimate rights, in accordance with international law, in a way that ensures the protection of the population, the preservation of their dignity, and the achievement of justice.

A future that preserves rights is not built on revenge, nor on denying the humanity of others, but on ending injustice, respecting the law, holding those responsible for violations accountable, and guaranteeing rights without discrimination. The criterion is not who has the power to impose a new reality, but rather the extent of respect for human rights and the legal rules that regulate relations between peoples and states and protect the population in conditions of occupation.

The road may be long, challenges may accumulate, and attempts to impose facts on the ground may continue, but national memory remains an essential element in protecting identity, documentation remains a necessity to preserve evidence, the law remains a framework for demanding rights and accountability, and peaceful national and institutional action remains one of the tools for defending Palestinian existence and its future.

The land that bears the names of its owners, the villages that preserve the history of its people, and the fields that bear witness to the work of their generations cannot be understood as mere spaces that can be erased from consciousness. It is part of the life of a people with its own rights and aspirations, and protecting it remains a responsibility that extends beyond the present moment to future generations.

New scenes may be imposed on the ground, but imposing the scene does not mean possessing the right, and the continuation of reality does not mean gaining legitimacy. Between land, memory, and law, the Palestinian issue remains an issue of rights, dignity, and justice. The bet remains on ending the occupation and settlement, protecting people and their property, preserving legitimate rights, and building a future in which force is not a substitute for the law, and in which the uprooting of a person from his land is not a destiny that cannot be changed.

Scene Four: The land is our land

The land is our land; It is not a slogan that we repeat on occasions, nor a phrase that can be summed up in words, but rather a reality that is embodied in the details of our daily lives, in every olive season, in every grain of dirt, in every old house, in every field that preserves the steps of our ancestors, and in every story that is transmitted from the memory of the fathers to the hearts of the children. It is a truth carried by the names of villages and towns, preserved by the stones of ancient houses, and witnessed by old trees, agricultural terraces and roads crossed by successive generations, leaving traces of their life, work and existence in the place.

The land is the land of the farmer who wakes up at dawn, carries his tools to his field, and plants seeds knowing that what he plants today may be a harvest for his children tomorrow. The land of the mother who memorizes the stories of the place, knows the names of the fields and springs, and tells her children the stories of the houses in which the ancestors lived, the trees they planted, and the seasons they waited for year after year. And the land of the child who learns from his first steps that belonging is not a word said, but rather a memory that is preserved, a responsibility that is borne, a right that is known, and a human and historical relationship that is formed across generations.

In Palestine, the story of the land does not begin with borders drawn on maps, nor does it end at the barriers that divide geography. It is the story of the man who built his house, planted his field, paved his way, established his social relationships, and wove the details of his daily life into the place. The story of families connected to their land through work, production, and inheritance, and of communities whose identity was formed from the names of their villages and towns, their customs and traditions, and their cultural, architectural, and agricultural heritage.

Therefore, Palestinian land is not just an economic asset or physical property; It is also an essential element of national identity, a source of decent living, and an extension of collective memory. The old house is not accumulated stones, but rather the history of a family and features of life. The field is not only an agricultural space, but a source of livelihood and an inherited relationship between man and his place. The olive tree is not only a seasonal crop, but rather part of the Palestinian cultural landscape, and a symbol of work, patience and continuity.

When a Palestinian clings to his land, he clings to his right to live on it, work on it, protect his property, preserve his heritage, and pass on his memory to future generations. This adherence does not need to be transformed into an abstract discourse, because it is manifested in daily practice: in the farmer who returns to his field, in the family who renovates its house, in the farmer who replants an uprooted tree, and in the person who documents the history of his village, and preserves the names of its neighborhoods, fields, and landmarks from oblivion.

However, this relationship with land faces real challenges represented by occupation and settlement, land confiscation, restrictions on access to some agricultural areas, and attacks on residents and their property. These facts cannot be viewed as temporary spatial changes. It affects people's lives, livelihoods, and the stability of their societies, and raises legal issues related to the protection of property, individual and collective rights, and the obligations resulting from the occupation in accordance with international law.

From a legal perspective, the right of peoples to self-determination, the protection of the civilian population and their property, and respect for the rules of international humanitarian law constitute basic foundations in dealing with the Palestinian issue. In its advisory opinion of 19 July 2024, the International Court of Justice confirmed the illegality of the continued Israeli presence in the occupied Palestinian territory, and set out the legal obligations related to ending this presence and settlement activities. This framework confirms that rights are not reduced to the facts imposed on the ground, and that addressing the conflict cannot be separated from respect for the law and the legitimate rights of the Palestinian people.

Defending the land is not limited to declaring ownership of it, but rather requires actual protection of rights, accurate documentation of violations, legal follow-up of responsibilities, preservation of property and heritage, and support for farmers and families who face difficulties in accessing or using their lands. It also requires strengthening national awareness among new generations, so that they know the history of their places, realize the value of their heritage, and understand that claiming rights is a responsibility based on knowledge, documentation, institutional work, and adherence to the law.

We are the people of this land. We carry the names of our villages in our hearts and preserve their features in our memories. We know that every place has a story, every story has evidence, and every generation has a responsibility to protect the history and heritage it has inherited. We do not memorize the names of our villages because they are words in ancient records, but because they are part of our identity and collective consciousness. We memorize it because when a place loses its name in memory, it loses part of its story. Because documentation, education, and honest narration are essential means of protecting heritage from disappearance and forgetting.

We pass on the story of the land to our children not only to burden them with the burdens of the past, but also to give them knowledge of their roots, an understanding of their rights, and a sense of responsibility towards their future. We teach them that protecting the land begins with respecting it, preserving its trees, water, and soil, and preserving its historical monuments, and that true belonging is inseparable from working for a society more capable of protecting its rights, resources, and heritage.

Patriotism is not just words raised, but rather a daily practice that manifests itself in planting the land, protecting trees, documenting history, supporting rights holders, preserving cultural property, and demanding justice through legal and institutional means. It is also a moral responsibility that requires defending human dignity and rights, rejecting aggression, uprooting and discrimination, and adhering to a future in which relations between peoples are based on respect for rights and the law, not on imposing facts by force.

The features of some places may change, roads may be closed, homes may be demolished, and trees may be uprooted, but the duty of preserving memory does not stop, and people’s rights are not erased simply by changing the landscape. There is a difference between what happens on the ground and what is approved by law, and between actual control over a place and acquiring a legitimate right to it. Hence, protecting the Palestinian land is linked to working to preserve rights, ending the occupation, confronting settlement by legal, political and legal means, and affirming the right of the Palestinian people to self-determination.

The land is our land is not a phrase that means the story is over, but rather a declaration that the responsibility to protect it continues. In the present, by protecting people and their property, and in the future, by preserving heritage, educating generations, and documenting history. It is a call to transform memory into knowledge, belonging into responsibility, right into conscious and continuous demands, and national action into an effort that protects the earth and man together.

The land is our land; Because it has a history in our lives, a place in our memories, and an identity in our conscience, and because the rights of our people are not reduced to an imposed reality or changing borders. It is the land of the farmer who cultivates it, the family that preserves its story, the child who learns the names of its villages, and the generations that bear the responsibility for its preservation. Some may try to obscure the story, but it is our duty to document it, protect its evidence, and transmit it honestly. The challenges may intensify, but our responsibility remains clear: to protect people, preserve the land, uphold legitimate rights, and work for a future in which justice is achieved, the law is respected, and Palestinians live in freedom and dignity on their land.

Closing scene: Palestine...a story of land, memory, and right

From the living memory of the place, to the olive trees rooted deep in the earth, and from confronting settlement to adhering to national identity, the Palestinian story continues. The story of a people who have been connected to their land across generations, preserved the names of their villages and towns in their memory, preserved their heritage in the details of their daily lives, and remained committed to their legitimate rights despite the uprooting, displacement and attacks they faced.

A tree may be uprooted, a house may be demolished, a road may be besieged, and the features of a place may change under the weight of facts imposed by force, but the land is not reduced to a passing scene, history cannot be erased by changing landmarks, and rights do not lose their legitimacy simply because they are denied or ignored. Every place has a memory, every village has a story, and every tree has roots that extend into the earth and into the minds of its owners.

Protecting Palestine is not just a restoration of the past, but rather a responsibility towards the present and the future. A responsibility that requires protecting people, preserving land, documenting violations, preserving heritage, and adhering to legitimate national rights in accordance with international law. Force may impose a reality on the ground, but it does not grant this reality, once imposed, legal legitimacy, nor does it nullify the right of peoples to self-determination, nor does it end the responsibility of the international community to respect the law and protect rights.

Palestine is not just a land on which we live; Palestine is a memory we carry, an identity we safeguard, a right we defend with awareness and action, and a story whose chapters we write every day. In the farmer who returns to his field, in the olive tree that is planted again, in the house that memorizes the stories of its people, and in the child who learns the names of his villages, the story continues, and the place remains present in the consciousness of generations.

The land is our land, the memory is our memory, and the story is the story of a people with a history, rights, and aspirations for freedom and justice. Palestine will remain alive in us, not as a memory of the past, but as a responsibility in the present and a guarantee for the future. A generation preserves, a generation documents, and a generation continues on the path. So that the story of the land remains alive, and rights remain present, and the day comes when the Palestinian people live freely, enjoying their legitimate rights, on their land, with dignity, justice, and peace.

Palestine...a land with a story, a people with a right, and a never-ending memory.