Checkpoint jitters

Raja Shehadeh

EVERY DAY, at hundreds of checkpoints throughout the West Bank, Palestinians are stopped and made to wait, often for a long while, before they are let through. Last week I was halted at the Jabaa checkpoint on my way from my home in Ramallah to dinner at a friend’s house in Bethlehem.
I was by myself, listening to a Beethoven string quartet, one of the most beautiful of his later works. The weather was good; the moon was out. I was in a meditative mood. I wanted to feel the beauty of the moment and not let it be determined, defined or in any way affected by the bored Israeli soldiers blocking my way.
At first, I seemed to be succeeding. As time stretched I began to wonder how long the wait was going to last, but I coached myself into staying calm : ‘’What does it matter? I have time.’’
Half an hour later, I began to feel that my composure was under threat. I started to simultaneously fear my temper (What might I do if I got upset because of this continuing wait?) and my cool (Would not reacting confirm I was becoming submissive and allowing these soldiers to step all over me?). Doubt set in.
Perhaps I wasn’t truly self-composed. Perhaps I was deluding myself and justifying my cowardice and my failure to assert myself and my rights.
I turned off the music. Then I waited, nursing my anger. I considered the different ways I could rebel. Should I get out of the car and yell? Should I honk? Should I rally the other drivers in the queue to start a rebellion?
I looked around. The drivers were silent and seemed to be taking all this meekly, without any visible manifestation of anger. How docile people have become, I thought.
Before the Oslo Accords we would challenge the Israelis, all of us would, each in our own way. We were not submissive then. Today we are subdued. No one in the cars around me was pounding on the steering wheel or even cursing. These are new times. It seems that as soon as those accords were signed in 1993, as soon as our leaders shook hands with the enemy on that White House lawn, the struggle was called off. That illusory peace has achieved little except to dampen people’s appetite for struggle. Now we endure our ordeal at checkpoints, as docile as too-well-mannered children.
“Whoever does not believe in our ultimate victory can go drink the waters of the sea,’’ Yasser Arafat was fond of saying. In his bravado he was no different from other leaders: the world over they try to appear victorious in the face of any reality. But I wasn’t fooled.
However the Oslo Accords are presented I know they mark a defeat for Palestinians. I will not accept to be deceived. I will face this calamity with open eyes.
In the past I did all that I could to expose the ways of our Israeli occupiers and the legal transformations that have taken place in the West Bank, robbing Palestinians of their land to allow for Jewish settlements. These were the subjects I wrote about. The ‘’peace’’ symbolised by the Oslo Accords has reversed none of Israel’s illegal actions. It has only made matters worse by obfuscating everything.
I must rebel against this, too, and against these new quiescent times. I must refuse to be beguiled, confused, mystified. If I’m not careful, I might end up like many around me: puny, a bit ridiculous, blabbering away to hide my inability to stand up to the occupiers. Reduced. My rebellion will take the form of seeking out the truth about our situation. I will subject my investigation to the highest standards, to safeguard myself against mediocrity and deception. In this way I will resist the lies of our enemy.
As these thoughts passed through my mind, a soldier’s hand waved me through the checkpoint. He was smiling. I started the engine, turned the music back on and in the company of Beethoven’s quartet drove the rest of the way to dinner on the moonlit road.