Kalandia Checkpoint – Monday after the Election

The Israeli authorities eased their restrictions on freedom of movement for Palestinians forced to cross one or several checkpoints in order to get to the polling stations for two days prior to the elections, and on the actual Election Day. After having observed a couple of checkpoints on Election Day and having spoken to other organisations involved in observing the election, my assessment is that Palestinian voters were allowed to cross the checkpoints unimpeded. I asked a young Palestinian woman at the Ar Ram checkpoint just outside of Jerusalem whether she had encountered problems in crossing the checkpoint in order to get to her polling station. She replied that she hadn’t faced any problems this particular day but added that any other day at the checkpoint is a living hell.

It is Monday, the day after the presidential election. Two colleagues and I are en route to Jerusalem for a meeting. We start off our trip by leaving our house in Ramallah approximately 1-1½ hours prior to the meeting, ample time to ensure a timely arrival. The distance between Ramallah and Jerusalem is roughly 14-15 kilometres.

We take our seats in a servees (shared taxi) and arrive in an unproblematic fashion to one of the biggest checkpoints in the West Bank – Kalandia – which is situated just between Ramallah and the northern outskirts of Jerusalem. We are met by a sea of people, queuing up to cross to the Jerusalem side of the checkpoint. It turns out that the Kalandia checkpoint is completely closed down, which means that people can cross neither to Jerusalem nor to Ramallah. The reasons for this are, as always, uncertain. We hear rumours of Abu Mazen (Mahmoud Abbas), the newly elected Palestinian president, possibly passing through the checkpoint and that, due to this fact, the Israeli authorities have decided to stop the flow of people through the checkpoint until he makes his passage across. Others argue that a single Palestinian inside Jerusalem, thought to be planning an attack, has caused the commotion, leaving the Israelis to close down the Kalandia checkpoint due to security reasons. One of my colleagues and I decide to personally ask the soldiers what is going on and make our way through the crowd. The soldiers seem clearly annoyed and nervous and we are not given any answers to our questions at first.

People around us are growing weary and impatient, telling us that they have waited to cross for 1½ hours. When I again ask the soldier as to why we are being held back, he says it is because of security reasons. Security reasons – I don’t know how many times I have heard those words uttered during my time in the region. I ask him what that implies in practice and receive a response that it is classified information. Of course. There is apparently no obligation to provide a legitimate basis for the withholding of hundreds of people with valid permits from crossing the checkpoint. Not in this place at least.

As by a miracle, one of the soldiers announces with the help of his megaphone that women, children, and elderly people are allowed to cross through the so-called “humanitarian line.” It turns out that the “humanitarian line” is not a well-organised or structured system, but that in practice, it implies that people who fit the above criteria have to fight their way to the middle of the crowd and then queue up to one of the soldiers.

A woman suddenly appears next to us with her old and sick mother. She begs us to help her mother since she just came from the hospital and has a lot of difficulties in walking. The woman says that her mother will not be able to fight her way through the crowd in order to reach the “humanitarian line.” We decide to try and reason with the military and escort the women to one of the soldiers. A foreign journalist, also held back at the checkpoint, tells us that he has already tried to plead with the soldiers on behalf of the mother. Despite this, we decide to reason with the military and my colleague is requested to walk up and ask the military police for a decision on the matter.

Meanwhile, I stay put with the mother and her daughter. Yet another woman with a permit in her hand approaches and tries to appeal to the soldier. The soldier orders her, in an annoyed voice, to go back. I stand next to the two when the soldier raises his megaphone, places it next to the woman’s ear, and shouts: “Go back!” I tell him that is was unnecessary and abusive of him to behave in such a way. He shrugs his shoulders and looks contemptuously at me. The woman pushes her way back through the crowd, having been treated with disdain.

My colleague returns and informs the daughter and mother that we have to go around the crowd and cross the checkpoint through a passage which is normally not open for crossing if one is en route to Jerusalem. We slowly move forward and make way for the old, sick mother. When we finally manage to fight our way through the crowd and to the passage, two soldiers in front of us shout that we have to go back since we are not allowed to cross here en route to Jerusalem. I stand back with the women while my colleague walks up to the soldiers and explains to them that we have been told by other soldiers to cross here. Confusion ensues and the conversation continues for a while.

I stand and watch the line of men through the fence next to me. They stand calmly, immobilised in between concrete blocks, patiently waiting to be let through by the soldier in front. Suddenly I hear the sound of, what I believe is, the cocking of a gun. A couple of Palestinian men desperately try to push their way back through the line in order to escape the discharge. Immediately after, I see the soldier discharge a sound grenade which hits just in front of the feet of the men in the front row of the line. Flames of fire and smoke shoot out of the barrel of the rifle. A deafening explosion follows. Panic breaks out among the hundreds of Palestinians now assembled at the Kalandia checkpoint. For a few seconds, there is a state of panic and fear for what is going to happen next. The soldiers who had previously been speaking to my colleague now suddenly approach us with their rifles aimed straight at us. We quickly pull back and bide our time.

After a while, a sort of order reinstates itself and people are now allowed to cross the checkpoint in a fairly uncomplicated manner. The soldiers don’t bother to check people’s belongings. Strange.

After an hour at the Kalandia checkpoint, we are finally allowed to cross. The woman and her mother are deeply grateful for our efforts in getting them to cross. We wish we could have done more.

I find myself in some sort of a state of chock. Checkpoints exist due to security reasons if you ask Israeli soldiers and the majority of the Israeli population. Does security encompass abusive treatment of desperate people? Does it also encompass arbitrary discharging of sound grenades in crowds consisting of the sick, the elderly, women, and children?

The men in line didn’t behave in a way that legitimised the discharging of a sound grenade. And honestly, if security is of utmost importance, why were the people being detained not searched by the Israeli soldiers in the end?

All these thoughts are echoing in my mind when I suddenly remember what the old man, who was walking towards me, disdainfully said to me just after the explosion: “This is peace. Small peace.” It is after all Monday, the day after the election – yet another day of occupation. It couldn’t have been manifested more evidently than here at the Kalandia checkpoint – one of many places which constitute a daily hell for Palestinians.